


Cold

by Brambleshadow_of_WindClan



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Bloodplay, Dark, Dark Doctor (Doctor Who), Dream Sex, Extremely Amoral Character, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Gen, Knifeplay, Post-Season/Series 02 for Torchwood, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-29 21:52:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan/pseuds/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose finds a way to return to the Doctor after Bad Wolf Bay only to find he’s changed. He’s darker, almost evil, and it soon starts to feel like she’s a prisoner instead of a companion. . . . But are you a prisoner when you don’t even know it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one's taken forever to write, so I'm satisfied that it's finished. This is another fic inspired by a Dark Ten/Rose AU vid I saw on YouTube set to the song "Cold" by Aqualung. The excerpt at the end is from "Blood Runs Cold" by Def Leppard, a totally different song. Some scenes were inspired by the Def Leppard song "Billy's Got a Gun" from _Pyromania._ Still not entirely sure about those scenes. If anything needs changing, let me know via a review.
> 
> Starts off immediately after _Doomsday_ but skips over Series Three and is before Series Four. Let's pretend that she came through the rift, okay?
> 
> Oh, yes, warnings: DarkTen. Rape/Non-Con.

The Doctor’s body slammed violently against the console after his hologram on Bad Wolf Bay cut off abruptly. _NO! I was in mid-sentence! You can’t do this to me! Rose..._

Tears, glistening wet and salty, slid down his cheeks as he drew in a rattling breath. This wasn’t fair. _Why_ had he prattled on instead of finally saying what he’d needed to say?

_“Rose Tyler . . . I love you.”_

And now he would never be able to say it. The portal between the worlds had closed, and he’d burned up a sun just to say goodbye. Going back would mean destroying both universes.

 _So?_ said a tiny, dark voice in the back of his head. _I don’t care. If it meant getting Rose back . . ._

But he _did_ care, and that was the problem. He cared too much. She had made him almost human. For a Time Lord, that was unthinkable.

That hadn’t stopped him from falling for her, and falling hard. If any of his people could see him now . . . the lone Time Lord head over heels in love with a human ape . . . He would have been punished for sure.

He didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore, not without Rose there to hold his hand. No, he wanted to do more than hold hands with Rose Tyler. He wanted to kiss her, touch her, taste her, make love to her—and he shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t.

Then again, when had he ever followed the rules of his people? He’d always been a teenage rebel, and that hadn’t stopped or changed. He was just a boy when he’d learned how to run and he hadn’t stopped running since.

His motions were automatic as he set the TARDIS in flight. He didn’t care where he ended up, so long as it was far from here, the spot where he’d been forced to say goodbye to the one woman he’d ever truly loved.

Looking back, maybe that was when the darkness had taken root in his mind. At first, he hadn’t even noticed it was there, but as time went on it grew more apparent. He’d kept traveling—kept _running_ —because that was what he did. He even accidentally ended up picking a new companion—Martha Jones—but she left him of her own accord before he completely destroyed her life like he had Rose’s.

Currently he was in Cardiff, Wales, refueling the TARDIS with energy from the rift in space and time. He’d gone out, hoping to stretch his legs, maybe grab something to eat, and had just returned to his timeship when he saw a flash of bright light. His stunned eyes landed on a _very_ familiar pink-and-yellow human.

_No. It can’t be. That’s not possible!_

Yet it was. Rose Tyler, the girl he’d lost, was there on a Cardiff street not ten meters away from him.

He wanted to hold her close, take her hard, and never let her go; he wanted to murder anyone who dared look at her or touch her the wrong way. She was _his_ and she’d come back to him.

Even when he’d been human hiding in 1913 with Martha from the Family of Blood, it had been Rose he’d dreamed about—his Bad Wolf, his pink-and-yellow girl. Now, when he looked back on those memories, he wondered if his dreams about Rose had influenced his human self in picking Joan Redfern as a lover—after all, she was blonde like Rose. Not that he hadn’t fantasized about Rose when she was traveling with him—he had—but, as a human, his dreams of her had been vivid and left him aching for her kiss, her touch, her body writhing underneath his.

Now that she’d come back to him . . .

Rose was suddenly in the TARDIS, looking up at him with relief, happiness, and hope in her eyes. “You’re still you,” she said, reaching out to cup the left side of his face.

“I’m still me,” he replied, only just stopping himself from leaning into her touch or turning his head to lick at her palm. She meant that his body hadn’t changed; for him, it was a lie. Losing her to the parallel world had definitely brought out his dark side—and now he never wanted that side of him to go away.

Then her body was against his as she pulled him into a hug, and it took all his self-control not to bring her down to the metal grating and take her right then and there.

But he would, soon. Until then, he had to keep a close eye on her, maybe restrict them to the Time Vortex for a few days.  
Long enough for him to form a plan.

Rose was _his_. She just didn’t know it yet.

Suddenly, on the monitor, he caught sight of yet another familiar figure running towards the TARDIS: Captain Jack Harkness.

 _Nope!_ The Doctor pulled hard on a lever, heard the familiar sound of his ship dematerializing, and they were in the Time Vortex.

Yes, he’d deliberately ditched Jack, but he didn’t care.

More to the point, he didn’t want any other male around _his_ Rose—and there was the whole “Jack is _wrong_ ” thing.

Besides, this way he could make sure she didn’t go wandering off.

-oOo-

“How’re you doing?”

Rose, startled, jumped a little before looking up from the book she was reading. The Doctor was leaning against a bookshelf, legs crossed, hands in pockets, and watching her with such intensity it made her skin crawl. No, it wasn’t quite that—it was the look in his brown eyes, one she couldn’t name.

It scared her.

“Rose?” the Doctor tried again. He shoved off the shelf, took a step toward her.

“I’m fine, Doctor,” she replied, unsure why she didn’t want him coming too close to her.

“What are you reading?” he asked, leaning back against the shelf.

She held up the book so he could see the cover. _“Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.”_

He smiled. “Wait till you see the movie.”

“Why?”

The smile became a smirk. “I was in it.”

“No! Really?”

“Oh, yes.” There was definitely a smug look on his face now.

“Who’d you play?”

“Spoilers,” he said, the smirk morphing into a rougish grin. “If you want to find out, you’re going to have to watch the movie.”

A tiny voice in Rose’s head said he was trying to distract her—from what, she wasn’t sure. She squashed it down, rose from her seat, and followed him.

Time moved differently in the TARDIS, but it seemed to her like they’d been in there for far more than a couple hours.

Or so the Doctor had said, anyway.

-oOo-

Unsurprisingly, there was a room something like a home movie theater. The Doctor popped the DVD in the player and settled back in his seat next to Rose. Since the lights were low, his tiny smirk was barely noticeable. He’d had a lot of fun playing Barty Crouch Jr. After Donna turned down his offer of being a companion but long before meeting Martha Jones, he’d happened to try out for the part. It had been so easy slipping into that character, given how torn up he was over losing Rose—and the fact his own darker side had started taking over.

Besides, he’d also wanted an excuse to jump into the large pile of paperwork. The fact he’d helped kill Edward Cullen made it even more fun: He hated the Twilight Saga.

Maybe he should show the first book to Dracula. Then Stephenie Meyer’s dream of meeting a vampire would come true very, _very_ soon.

“You weren’t kidding,” Rose said, bringing him out of his thoughts. She leaned into him, resting her head on his chest, and he couldn’t resist throwing an arm possessively over her shoulder.

“Hhhmm.”

On screen, the Weasleys and Harry had just entered their tent, the one that was—

“It’s bigger on the inside,” said Rose. “You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?”

He shrugged. “I might have.” By now, his focus wasn’t on the movie; all his concentration was on Rose. He saw the way her eyes widened in shock and recognition when he made his entrance onscreen to cast the Dark Mark. He’d shown up before then, of course, when Voldemort had ordered Wormtail to kill the Muggle caretaker; but you had to be paying attention it was so brief. The Doctor wasn’t sure which scene had been the most fun to play—the trial scene or the scene where the Polyjuice Potion wore off. That had been one messy regeneration. Well, not really, but he was glad he never regenerated like that.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been studying Rose but it must have been for most of the movie, because when he next looked at the screen due to Rose’s hand clenching around his, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape had come to Harry’s rescue and Dumbledore was pouring Veritaserum down Moody’s—his—throat. Then the Polyjuice started wearing off. . . .

“That’s one messy regeneration,” Rose commented, and he couldn’t hold in a snort of laughter. And Dumbledore’s reaction was so _Back up, Harry, it’s a Time Lord!_ that this time they both started laughing.

He’d improvised the tongue-flicking on the spot, and he noticed—How could he not?—that Rose’s gaze was fixed on his mouth, his tongue—the onscreen him, of course.

“They had to give you the most suggestive line in the whole movie, didn’t they?” Rose asked.

He shrugged. “Well . . . S’not my fault, is it?”

“Suppose not.”

They watched the rest of the movie in silence, though the Doctor smiled slightly at the line “I’ll be welcomed back like a hero.” How ironic was that? He was the Oncoming Storm, the rebel Time Lord who’d stolen a magic box and run away. He was nobody’s hero; death and destruction followed in his wake.

Then he looked to the side and saw Rose, his pink-and-yellow girl, the light who’d pulled him back from eternal darkness. Yeah, that sounded cliché and corny, but it was the truth. She’d made him better.

Did he want to be saved this time?

Even if it was from himself?

For once, he found that was one question he couldn’t answer. Or maybe he didn’t want to know the answer.

He’d already deceived her. He had told her they’d been in the Vortex for four hours now. It was actually more like a day.

But he would wait before claiming his prize. Patience wasn’t his strongest virtue, but he would wait . . . and watch . . . for the right moment.

After all, it was well within his right to take what was his.

And Rose, by every definition, belonged to him.

-oOo-

Rose was starting to become nervous. It was, she thought, a day or two later and the Doctor still hadn’t taken them out of the Vortex. He was acting strangely, too. She would be reading or just be relaxing when she would look up and there he’d be, not saying anything, just standing there with hands in his pockets and watching her. Or she would go for a walk through the hallways and he’d materialize out of nowhere, asking her where she thought she was going. Which was ridiculous. It wasn’t like the TARDIS had escape pods or anything.

Still, it was weird that he hadn’t taken them anywhere yet. The Doctor hated being in one place for too long.

So why were they still in the Vortex?

And why wouldn’t he let her out of his sight? The dark intensity in his eyes when he looked at her . . . that scared her more than any other alien she’d faced.

Just who—or what—was she living with?

-oOo-

The Doctor knew Rose suspected something was wrong. He could smell her nervousness and she was starting to act cagey around him. So maybe he’d spooked her with the appearing-silently-out-of-nowhere and the intense staring, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

He’d already messed with her time sense, but it was always hard to judge time in the TARDIS, so what could a little more manipulation hurt?

There had been a time when he would have felt guilty about using his companion like this. Now, he felt nothing.

He didn’t want her becoming too suspicious, though. Maybe he could take her somewhere, so long as it was out of the Vortex. There was the beautiful Medusa Cascade. The last time he’d been there he was 90 years old—still just a kid.

“Doctor?”

Rose’s tentative voice had him rolling out from under the console where he’d been trying to fix a few faulty circuits. He rose to his feet, arched a single eyebrow at her. “Yes, Rose?”

Her teeth worked at her lower lip. She was definitely uncomfortable around him, then. “How long have we been here? I mean, really?”

“A few days,” he lied. It was actually a week and a half. “Like I’ve told you. But I was just thinking about taking us somewhere. How do you feel about visiting the Medusa Cascade?”

“Medusa.” Her brow furrowed. “Wasn’t she—?”

“Yes, she was a gorgon in Greek mythology who turned whoever looked her in the eye to stone. It was a punishment from Athena, who caught her fooling around with Poseidon in Athena’s own temple—but that’s not the point. The Medusa Cascade is actually very beautiful. I went there myself as a kid once, years ago.” An excited half-grin formed. “Whaddya say, Rose?”

She smiled faintly. “Yeah, okay.”

He kept the excited mask on as he set the coordinates, took them out of the Vortex and into space. It slipped as soon as Rose was distracted by the sight of the Medusa Cascade, though he doubted she noticed. She was entranced by all the beautiful colors—sort of like those of the Aurora Borealis—and he was fixated on her. He loved seeing that look of wonder on her face.

What did she look like when she came?

He’d find out, hopefully sooner rather than later.

-oOo-

He took her to a couple other planets, sticking close to her the whole time. Today the TARDIS had landed them on a planet that looked suspiciously like Earth in the Middle Ages. Or maybe they were on Earth and it was during the Middle Ages. Or the Dark Ages. Rose could never keep those two straight, and apparently, neither could the Doctor.

The Doctor stepped out of his timeship and paused to check his bearings before turning back to Rose. She was wearing a T-shirt (white, with an image of a green witch throwing fireballs and the words _I met the Ghost of Oakhaven . . . and lived!_ ) and jeans, and he raised an eyebrow.

“You step out wearing that, they’re going to consider you even more naked than Queen Victoria did.” (In all honesty, he couldn’t say he was opposed to the idea. And when he finally did take her, he wanted to hear her screams, to make her come so hard she forgot where she was.)

Rose raked a pointed gaze over his own form. “Uh-huh. And you wearing a 21st century suit is perfectly fine, is it?” she said dryly.

He shrugged. “I’ve worn more questionable clothes than this, and no one ever said anything. Well, mostly. Where’d you even get that shirt? I don’t remember stopping in Oakhaven. Where is Oakhaven, anyway?”

She flashed him a small smile. “Massachusetts. And we never stopped there. Haven’t you ever seen _Scooby-Doo and the Witch’s Ghost_?”

“Oh, yeah, the one with Sarah and Ben Ravencroft. And the Hex Girls. Loved that band.”

“Doctor, the Hex Girls aren’t a real band.”

He grinned. “Who says they aren’t?” As she crossed her arms and glared at him, he cleared his throat and looked away. “Anyway. Let’s explore, shall we?” He held out his hand, and, after a second’s hesitation, she took it.

He couldn’t help thinking that if any locals saw that T-shirt, they would have her tried for witchcraft. _That_ wasn’t going to happen, not on his watch. At least there hadn’t been trouble on their last two trips. If they kept this up, it was going to be a record.

Of course, he should have known the peaceful trips wouldn’t last. With them, nothing ever stayed peaceful for long.

-oOo-

He strode through the village, strides long and angry, trench coat billowing out behind him. When he found who had taken Rose, if they had hurt her in any way . . .

There was a reason his enemies called him the Oncoming Storm, after all.

Oh, he would _enjoy_ making them pay. _No one_ laid hands on his companion except for him. If they touched her, harmed her, tried to burn her for witchcraft . . .

His eyes saw red, but his surroundings still stayed their normal color.

If Rose saw him now, she would never have recognized him as her Doctor. This was the side of him that had fought in the Time War, brought about the destruction of both the Daleks and his own people. The Oncoming Storm, the Destroyer of Worlds . . . the Time Lord Victorious.

Hhhmm, Time Lord Victorious. That had a ring to it. Maybe he’d save it for a later date.

Within moments he was at the entrance to a castle. The Doctor didn’t even bother knocking; he just opened the door and stormed inside.

His mind saw streaks of blood on the stone walls, when in reality there was nothing there.

“Oi!” At the sound of the familiar voice, he stiffened. That was Rose’s voice. “Let me out of here, you—” She went on to call them several insulting names, some of which the Doctor was sure she made up on the spot. Well, she wasn’t a Tyler for nothing and he couldn’t help but be impressed with some of her choice swear words. Was some of that in Sycoraxic? Yes, yes it was. Interesting. Still, he couldn’t stand here listening to Rose curse at her captors all day. He’d come to—for lack of a better term—rescue her, after all.

He was on the move again, following the sound of her voice. The sound took him below ground until he was in a place he recognized from having been in several similar ones before: a dungeon.

Oh, this was just _great_. Though, to be honest, he wasn’t even sure how Rose had been separated from him or carted off into a bloody dungeon. Rassilon! Did he always have to do everything by himself?

She _had_ saved him on multiple occasions, so maybe not.

Still. That wasn’t the point here.

The Doctor stalked forward, eyes flashing with the dark promise of murder. Within minutes he was within sight of Rose’s captors—and therefore Rose herself. Her eyes widened when she saw him, and he raised a finger to his lips. The message was clear: _Don’t give me away._

Rose always had been quick to catch on to his plans, and right now was no exception.

The Doctor, eyes cold and calculating, took in the room, the little cell that was holding Rose—and his companion’s condition. Hatred exploded in his hearts when he caught sight of the hematomas on her arms, her neck, the tattered conditions of her jeans and T-shirt. She’d obviously put up a fight, but that didn’t reassure him.

Her guards hadn’t noticed him. They were too focused on torturing Rose to check to see if they were alone—and the Doctor was grateful for their stupidity. _Humans. Stupid blundering apes,_ he thought savagely. _I_ told _her not to wear that, and now they’re going to try her for witchcraft. No, not even that—they’ll try her in her absence and burn her alive at the stake. Or stone or drown her._

 _That’s_ not _gonna happen._

One of the guards pulled out a dagger, held it close to Rose’s skin. From where he was standing, the Doctor couldn’t quite see _where_ the dagger was resting. Neck, stomach, breasts, it didn’t matter. One good nick into an artery or vein and she would bleed out before they could do anything.

Then the guard pushed Rose forward, out of the cell. She stumbled, caught herself, and let the guards lead her out of the room. The Doctor shrank back into the shadows until they were well past him. Then he followed on silent feet, a shadow on the wall. A few lines from Def Leppard’s “Billy’s Got a Gun” played in his head: _Can you feel it in the air? There’s danger in the air. Danger, such a strange emotion. Can you feel it in the air? Oh yeah, oh Billy. Never give him an even break. Gettin’ caught is the chance you take. It could be your last mistake. You could be so helpless as a bird with a broken wing, like a sheep in a lion’s den. Gonna fall but you won’t know when._

It was dusk when they neared the entrance to the castle. The Doctor struck only when he saw the crowd of townspeople gathering round ( _Gathering to burn Rose,_ he thought.), easily disarming one with a swift kick to the genitals and knocking out the other with a hard punch to the jaw. For good measure he’d retrieved the dagger from the one man, whirled around when the other recovered and came toward him. The blade sank into something soft; and blood spilled over the Doctor’s hands, staining the ground with dark crimson.

“Get out of here!” he barked at Rose.

She stared for a couple seconds—because that stony, cold expression belonged to a killer, not _her Doctor_ —then she backed away, a sick look on her face.

Dark clouds had formed earlier, and now a soft rain began to fall, creating a thin layer of mist over the scene. Then a scream rang out like thunder, but the lightning-strike reaction of the others was too late. As the rain came down on the crimson ground, well, it could very well have been the hand of fate.

The crowd gathered ’round, but the Doctor couldn’t wait. He caught up with Rose, hands still red with blood, and tried not to be too bothered about the fact that she wouldn’t look at him.

On the way back to the TARDIS, he was quivering with so much rage that he refused to say a single word until they were back inside his ship. Once they were—and he made sure the doors were locked—he whirled around so he was facing her.

“Doctor?” Rose’s voice was a terrified whisper, and she stepped back, away from him.

 _“What were you thinking?”_ he hissed, brown eyes dark with fury. “You could have _died,_ Rose! They were trying to _kill you_. I can’t lose you, not again!”

Her mouth formed a silent “oh” and she took a single hesitant step toward him.

He wasn’t done. “But that never occurred to you, did it?” he snarled, voice rising with each word. “Rose Tyler, Defender of the Earth. Aside from that, you’re not important. Not even remotely important!”

Really, he should have expected it. Her mother was Jackie Tyler, after all. The sting still hurt enough to make him wince and rub his jaw. “Ow!”

“Don’t you _dare_ say something like that to me again!” Rose snapped, whiskey-brown eyes flaring with her own inner fire.

“Sorry, that was more than a bit rude of me, wasn’t it?”

She looked at him for a long moment. “Go to hell,” Rose spat, turning on her heel and heading off toward her room.

The Doctor stared after her, the Oncoming Storm smoldering in his eyes.

He’d give her a few hours to cool off. Tonight, he would take what was his.

As for going to hell?

He was already there.

-oOo-

Rose, several hours later, was sleeping in her room. She was lost in dreams of the Doctor—well, more like fantasies. This one was particularly vivid. She could almost feel his weight pressing her down . . .

Wait a minute. She _could_ feel him pressing her into the mattress.

_What the—?_

Rose opened her eyes, which widened when they made out the familiar form above her.

It was the Doctor. A very naked Doctor.

“What’re you doing?” she yelped as he pulled down her pajama bottoms. Rose began to struggle, but the Doctor easily held her in place. (He was stronger than she’d thought.) “Let me go!”

He crawled his way up her body, brown eyes black. “No.” His voice was low, rough.

Rose was more scared now than she’d ever been in her life. This wasn’t the Doctor. The monster that wore his skin had crept in to replace him.

_Oh, God . . ._

A whimper left her throat as he tore her shirt off, kissed her roughly on the mouth. His hands dug into her sides, her back, as he folded her to him. He took the opportunity of her lips parting—to tell him to stop, not that he would have listened—to dart that talented tongue of his inside.

 _No . . ._ She didn’t want him, not like this—not without her consent. Rose might have whimpered a protest; if she did, the Doctor either didn’t hear it or didn’t care.

She wanted it to be the former, not the latter.

His mouth left hers as he raised his head, raked his gaze over her body. That dark intensity she’d caught glimpses of was there in full force; and, to her horror, she felt herself responding.

Bile rose in her throat as he nipped at the soft skin of her neck, moved down to her breasts. His hands moved, fingertips digging into her skin, but she was hardly aware of where he placed them.

Her brain wanted him to stop, but her body . . . This was turning her on.

And that was wrong, so, _so_ wrong. On so many levels.

_Help me . . ._

One of his hands was between her legs, spreading them so he could . . . Rose couldn’t finish the thought. Her entire brain just shut down. This wasn’t happening, this wasn’t happening, wasn’t happening. She was still dreaming. . . . She _had_ to be. It wasn’t, _couldn’t_ , be real.

_Please . . ._

Without warning, the Doctor plunged two of his fingers inside her. Rose gasped and her hips jerked reflexively, met the cool skin of his own form. Oh, God, she could feel _him,_ and he was more than ready to carry this further.

“Doctor, please . . .” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded weak.

“What, Rose?” he growled.

“Stop . . .”

His mouth closed around her right breast, all teeth and tongue, and he curled the fingers inside her. Rose threw her head back, involuntarily arched against him. Her body did not belong to her tonight.

The Doctor suddenly abandoned her mammary gland, flicked his eyes up to hers. “You’re sure you want me to? Cos your body is saying yes.” He pulled his fingers out, licked them clean. “You’re so wet for me, Rose,” he rasped.

Damn him. She wasn’t in control. Rose was locked away in a corner of her mind. He wasn’t going to stop, not now. He’d made that clear early on.

She gasped with pain as he pushed into her. It had been far too long, those muscles were sore, and _she hadn’t wanted this._

His breath was hot on her ear as he growled, “It’s been so long, Rose. _So long_.” She shuddered when she felt him beginning to move inside her; her skin crawled with revulsion as his nails dug into her hips. “Thought I’d lost you.” His teeth tugged at her earlobe, nearly drew blood. “Never gonna let you go.”

At that, her blood chilled to ice. The horrifying thing was that he meant it; she could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice, feel it in the way he was taking her right now. He would never let her leave. Not again.

. . . But this wasn’t the Doctor. It couldn’t be. The Doctor would never do this to her.

“Let me go.” Her voice was a hiss of air escaping from her lungs, she was that terrified.

“No. _Never_.” His thrusts became harder, more urgent, and pain lanced through her with each one. He was close.

To her utmost horror, so was she.

She hadn’t asked for this . . .

Somehow she knew the moment he lost control and spilled himself inside her. Tremors racked her, and her eyes squeezed shut.  
How could she ever look at him now?

After what seemed like hours, he left her. Once she was sure he was gone, Rose curled up in the fetal position and let the tears stream silently down her face.

_I thought I knew him . . ._

And her time was running out.

_Blood runs cold._  
I feel it in my bones.  
But you don’t know your time is up,  
And blood runs cold.  
Blood runs cold.  
Blood runs cold.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks goes to TuiYLa, without whom this chapter would probably never have been written.
> 
> Songs used are Def Leppard's "Desert Song", "Fractured Love", and "Armageddon It"; Pat Benatar's "Walking in the Underground"; and Billie Piper's "Day and Night". Like in the first chapter, the ending verses are from Def Leppard's "Blood Runs Cold." I'm also working on a third chapter for this, but that third chapter will be the last one.

He didn’t care.

The Doctor found that he really didn’t care that he might have hurt her as he sat outside Rose’s room, back against the wall, and listened to her soft crying.

He’d only been enjoying what was his. She had, too—her body had, at least. He’d smelled her arousal, felt her heated flesh, relished the taste of her juices as he sucked them from his fingers.

Already he knew that having her once wouldn’t be enough—it _never_ could be enough. Just once and he was hooked on her: his obsession, his drug.

If the Time Lords could see him now . . . Well, there was a reason he’d been exiled, a reason his own people called him the Bringer of Darkness, the Oncoming Storm. (Technically, that was the Daleks, but the name still applied.)

Gradually, he became aware that the sounds of crying had been replaced with running water. He considered joining her, and a smirk played around his lips at the thought. Even now he was still half-hard, and his mental image of a glistening wet Rose wasn’t helping matters.

As quickly as the thought entered his mind, he dismissed it. No, he would resort to his old pattern of letting her think everything back to normal—as normal as it ever was with them—before he claimed her again. He’d done it before he’d taken her, after all.

If he wanted, he could easily alter her memories so that she’d consented.

Or not. The Doctor wasn’t human, and maybe it was time Rose was reminded of that.

A cold smile quirked on his lips. He rose to his feet, made his way to his bedroom.

He needed more clothes than the robe he was currently wearing if he was to convince Rose that this had just been a nightmare, after all.

-oOo-

Rose stepped under the shower spray, forced the muscles in her body to relax as the heat stung her skin. The water was so hot it felt like fire.

Purifying fire.

She needed to feel clean.

Rose scrubbed at her body until her skin felt raw, but even that wasn’t enough. So she slid down the wall, pulled her knees up to her chest, and buried her face in the little ball she’d created, letting the hot water wash over her until she couldn’t see through the surrounding steam.

That was okay. She didn’t want to. If it fogged up enough, maybe _he_ wouldn’t find her.

Her eyes stung, but they were so dry there were no more tears left to cry.

Surely she would wake up to find this had just been a dream.

The Doctor she’d known would never have . . .

_Raped me,_ she silently finished.

That couldn’t have been him. It just _couldn’t_. Even in his old body he wouldn’t have forced himself on her.

_Wouldn’t he?_ a little voice in her head piped up. 

She closed her eyes, shook her head.

Rose may have been in there for minutes or an hour; eventually she shut off the water, roughly toweled herself off, and—not knowing what else to do—slipped into pajamas and curled up in bed. It took fifteen minutes for her to fall into a fitful sleep.

_Please let this all have been a dream._

If all this _was_ a dream, it had just turned into a nightmare.

-oOo-

“Rose?” The Doctor’s voice roused her sometime later. When her vision cleared, she saw that he was standing in her open doorway wearing his brown suit. “You okay? I heard you cry out.” The concern in his voice seemed genuine.

“Nightmare,” she answered, running a hand through hair that was slightly damp.

She didn’t want to dwell on what that meant, nor on the throbbing between her legs.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, taking a step into her room.

“No.” She shrank back instinctively, briefly wondered why she didn’t want him touching her, and felt a strange sense of déjà vu. Then she remembered: She’d reacted the same way in the library only a few days ago.

Had it been only a few days? Sometimes it seemed like she had been back on the TARDIS for weeks.

“Okay.” To her relief, he backed off, closed the door.

She didn’t see the triumphant smirk on his face, the cold glee in his eyes.

-oOo-

As he closed the door to Rose’s room, the Doctor couldn’t stop his mouth turning up in a triumphant smirk at her answer. There was a sense of relief that she thought it had been a nightmare; after all, she had been sleeping, dreaming of him—he’d glanced into her mind—when he had joined her in bed.

He decided to give Rose some space for now, let her prepare herself for the day. There weren’t any trips planned; much like before, he was content to wander about his ship, let the TARDIS float in the Vortex.

It was also convenient for him to check up on Rose, make sure his companion didn’t stray too far from his possessive, watchful eye.

The Doctor had already lost Rose to the parallel universe once, then nearly had her burned at the stake when she wandered off. He was not taking any chances at losing her again.

He’d told her as much. No, she could never leave him.

She’d promised, after all.

_“How long are you going to stay with me?”_

_“Forever.”_

He’d make sure of that.

As for right now, what did he want to do? He didn’t feel like tinkering with the TARDIS. The idea of curling up by the fireplace with a good book was appealing more and more to him.

The Doctor’s smirk widened. He knew just the book to read.

Minutes later, he was lounging in one of the chairs by the library fireplace, one of Rose’s handwritten journals in his hands. After he’d taken care of Donna, Lance, and the Empress of the Racnoss, he’d gone into Rose’s room—partly so he could feel close to her, partly so he could always something of hers close by—and he’d taken not only her purple shirt but this journal as well. Her thoughts on the time just after he’d regenerated were very interesting, though whenever some bloke named Jimmy Stone—apparently the boyfriend she’d had when she was sixteen—was mentioned, he frowned in anger and snarled at the book.

The only reason Stone was currently alive was because the Doctor hadn’t known he’d existed. Rose never mentioned him, and he’d never asked. He hadn’t wanted to know.

That had changed. He doubted Jimmy had. To be honest, the Doctor preferred Mickey the idiot to this bloke, the way Rose described him.

Something must be wrong if he preferred the tin dog.

He gave his head a quick shake to clear it, flipped to the entry she’d written after the Madame de Pompadour incident. His eyebrows shot up after reading a few lines. Well, he hadn’t known Rose had been that jealous. Besides, Reinette had been nothing to him, a mere distraction for his growing, intense, feelings for Rose. And— She hadn’t _really_ wanted to do that to him, had she? He nearly winced, just thinking about it.

Where was his companion, anyway? Surely she must be dressed by now.

“Doctor?” he heard her ask, as if right on cue.

He lifted his head and saw her standing in the doorway. “Over here,” he called, fighting back a smile when he saw how stiffly she was moving. A twinge of guilt nudged at him; he shoved it down.

“What are you reading?” she asked him.

“Oh, just something I picked up.”

Rose came around his chair, peered over his shoulder. “That almost looks like—”

The Doctor slammed the leather-bound book shut before she could have a good look at the writing within.

She snatched it out of his hands, opened the front cover. He stood, twisted around to face her as her eyes widened.

“You read my diary?!” she demanded, shocked.

The Doctor shrugged. “It’s my ship. I didn’t see a problem with going into your room while you were in the parallel universe—and it was sitting out there in the open. It wasn’t like I searched through your dresser; even I’m not that rude. If it was buried, I wouldn’t have touched it.” He smirked, ran hooded eyes over her body. “Besides, the thought of you as a horny teenager . . .” The tip of his tongue darted out, wet his lips. His hooded gaze darkened further, and he stepped closer to her.

Rose paled, nervously stepped back. The journal slipped from her hands to crash on the floor. He bent down, picked it up, and reached out to give it to her when he saw that she was making for the door.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he growled under his breath, sending a mental command to the TARDIS.

The door vanished before Rose could reach it. She froze, whirled around to face him. Rose wasn’t scared, not yet, but she _was_ nervous—he could almost taste it.

“You dropped this,” he said instead, holding out the journal.

She took it, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Is that it, or can I go now?”

“No.” As he stared her down, some part of him screamed _Look at me!_ It was dangerous, this need. It reminded him that while he may walk among humans and interact with them, he would never be one of them. He was woven throughout their history: a myth, a legend. He’d never let himself get too close to one, but Rose had somehow broken down all his barriers, stolen his hearts, and become a constant presence in his mind.

Not even Charley had been like this, and he had loved her back in his eighth body.

What was it about Rose, this pink-and-yellow human shopgirl from London that made her so irresistible to him, a Time Lord, the last of his kind? _What was it?_

Her breathing had become shallower, faster; his eyes flicked to hers, relished the anxiety bordering on fear he saw there.

“What do you want from me?” Her voice was a rattling hiss, and his mouth twitched.

“Nothing,” he said insincerely. The Doctor swept a critical eye over her, reached inside his jacket pocket for the sonic screwdriver. “You’re hurt, aren’t you, Rose? Let me help.”

Her teeth caught and worked at her lower lip. Then she nodded her consent. He saw the unspoken question in her eyes—“How do you know?”—but the Doctor said nothing as he adjusted the settings and aimed the sonic. Seconds later the tension in her body eased, and he allowed himself the faintest hint of a smile as he pocketed the screwdriver.

He wanted her whole and well when he took her again, after all. It wouldn’t do to further damage his Rose, especially not when she was wary of him. No, he wouldn’t push her too far too soon.

Still, how much trouble could she find on a night out with some of her old crowd? Just one short three-hour trip back home, then back in the TARDIS. If he tracked her, maybe put on those handcuffs he’d used on Margaret the Slitheen, perhaps . . .

Not now, though. Later, maybe. Say, a couple of days later.

On second thought . . .

“How come you never told me about this Jimmy Stone bloke?” he asked suddenly.

Rose jumped, startled at both the question and his quietly menacing tone. “You never asked. Besides, you’d forgotten all about Mickey the first time you met him.”

The Doctor gritted his teeth. “That was different. You never told me about Stone. Why?” 

Rose glared at him. “You must have figured out why after reading that; it doesn’t take a genius, Doctor.”

“Exactly my point. Why. Didn’t. You. _Tell. Me_?”

“Because I wanted to forget about him, put him behind me! I didn’t want him chucked into a nebula or sucked into a black hole!”

He considered it, fought the urge to smile at the mental image. Now that she’d mentioned it . . . What came out of his mouth instead was “Was he another one of your pretty boys?” Something inside him bristled and snarled, snapping its jaws. He didn’t like the thought of even Mickey or Jack touching his Rose, but the thought of another man hurting her, one he’d never known, had the beast raging inside him, straining to be released. Its snarls and growls rose to a roar pounding in his ears, and he almost missed Rose’s sharp reply: “What’s it to you, Doctor? I’d put him behind me until _you_ brought him up—after going through _my_ journal.”

Now it was the Doctor’s turn to break eye contact. “You can leave now, if you want—explore a little. Or you can stay in here with me. . .” He tried to voice it like a suggestion, but it came out more like an order—and has his voice always sounded that low, that . . . sensual? No wonder Martha had fallen for him when he hadn’t even been trying to seduce her.

Rassilon, what was it about Rose Tyler that turned him into _this_? He’d given up his ninth life to save her, and his tenth had been born out of love for her. Even now, he loved her in his own twisted way.

Not that he would ever admit it—but he had in a way last night. Well, last night for his human passenger, anyway. Time was relative in the TARDIS.

Rose nodded, backed up against the wall . . . and stepped out into the hallway. He’d been so focused on her that he hadn’t noticed his ship had replaced the door. She turned, walked down the corridor, and he noticed that she was trying hard not to break into a run.

Once she was out of his sight, she did.

He considered running after her, then decided against it. His ship would let him know where she was, so he could find her later if he desired.

And oh, he desired.

-oOo-

Rose ran down the corridor, her head spinning, not caring where she ended up. She’d been kidding herself that last night had been a nightmare and she knew it. Yet she’d wanted to believe it, and so she had.

More than that, the _Doctor_ had wanted her to believe it had been a nightmare. Lately, it didn’t feel as though she knew him anymore. What was going on with him? Before, he would never have kept her inside the TARDIS and the Vortex; would never have stolen her journal; would never have murdered another person in front of her; would never have _raped her_.

The way he’d looked at her when he mentioned picturing her as a teenager . . . It sent chills down her spine, and not just because he’d read her private thoughts. She’d felt like prey waiting to be devoured, and everything about that look, that _smirk_ , screamed sex.

That smirk shouldn’t even be legal.

She still couldn’t believe he’d actually said that. It was so out of character for him . . .

Unless he wasn’t the Doctor at all. Maybe he was possessed or under the influence of some sort of drug or something. Yes, that had to be it. Because if it wasn’t . . . No, she didn’t want to even consider that possibility.

So she ran, slowing only when she felt she was far enough from _him_ to be safe—as safe as she could be inside _his_ ship.

Rose felt as if she were caught in a dream where she was running in a maze—and there was no way out. Right now nothing was as it seemed, and she was fighting to see through a haze that refused to lift.

For the second time, she realized the Doctor had no intention of letting her leave the TARDIS without his supervision, if at all; that she was a prisoner in the one place she had called home for two years—the only place where she’d felt safe.

_“Never gonna let you go.”_

His words from last night played in her head. Rose shuddered, felt ice trickle down her spine.

Oh, God, how was she going to get out of this? Maybe if she could figure out what was wrong with the Doctor . . .

Rose breathed in, trying to calm down, and took in her surroundings properly for the first time. She was standing in front of a TARDIS-blue door, one she’d never really noticed before, but she knew instinctively that this had to be the Doctor’s room.

The trickling of ice water down her back became a torrent as she reached out for the side panel that would open the door. While some part of her wanted to see what his room was like, another part wanted to run away. If the Doctor found her in his room . . .

But then, _he’d_ been inside _her_ room, gone through _her_ personal possessions . . .

Next thing Rose knew, she was looking inside his room, standing just past the doorway. The walls and floor were dark blue, the bed a contrast of off-white. Rose didn’t see any signs of a dresser or a desk, but then, why would the Doctor have either? He already had a wardrobe room, and he spent most of his thinking time underneath the console.

A hint of pink-and-purple caught her eye and she swung her head back to where she’d seen it. That looked like . . .

Rose strode forward, picked up her shirt from the floor on the right side of the bed. What was _her shirt_ doing in here, near _his_ —?

The shirt dropped from her hands as if it had burned her. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the thought from her brain, but it wouldn’t leave. Nausea welled up in her stomach, tightened her airway. Suddenly the walls seemed to be closing in. She had to get out, get out before _he_ —

“What are you doing in here?”

Heart in her throat, Rose slowly turned on the spot, knowing who would be there and dreading his reaction. They were the only two people on the TARDIS; who else could it be?

She’d never been truly scared of the Doctor while she’d been traveling with him—except maybe when they had encountered that Dalek in Van Statten’s museum—but now . . . Even after everything she’d seen, all the aliens she’d faced . . . None of them were as terrifying as the Doctor. He was the biggest monster of them all. She knew that now as she watched him watching her, standing there leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed, something predatory in his gaze as he stared at her.

Oh, she was in so, _so_ much trouble . . .

-oOo-

The Doctor uncrossed his arms, slipped his hands in his pockets, and straightened, movements graceful in the way a big cat is when stalking prey as he slowly advanced toward her. “Well, Rose?” He could tell she was startled, at a loss for words, and the scent of her fear was intoxicating to him. “What are you doing here?”

Her eyes flicked to the bed, to the shirt balled on the mattress, to him. “I . . . um . . . I was just . . .”

“Exploring?” he suggested, raising an eyebrow.

She seized on the out he was giving her, nodding swiftly, unable to hide the relief in her eyes. “Yeah. I’ve never seen this room before. Not that I was expecting to; it’s your room, but . . . Doctor, what’s my shirt doing in here?”

“What’s it look like it’s doing in here?” he countered, resisting the temptation to take her on the bed he rarely used. It was too soon for her, and he was still hoping to convince her that last night had been a nightmare. However, if she was questioning him about her shirt, her journal . . .

Rose’s golden-brown eyes met his, narrowed. “I’m guessing you went through my dresser as well?” she accused. “Why else would it be in here?”

The Doctor shook his head, fought back an irritated growl. “Right after I said good-bye to you after we were cut off, some redhead in a wedding dress appeared in the console room. She started yelling at me, found your shirt—which was draped on a strut or the railing or something—and used it to ask me if I’d abducted you as well. I grabbed it back from her, explained it was yours, and afterwards . . . I must have put it in one of my pockets or something then took it out and left it in here as soon as I’d left Donna with her family.”

Her mouth formed a silent _Oh_. He wasn’t done yet.

“But losing you, Rose, did you have any idea what that did to me?”

“I—”

“ _What is it_ about you? Before meeting you, I’d never gotten close to a _human_ , never been invited into their family, never been tempted to go the _domestic_ route. And when you . . . _left_ . . .” He broke off with a growl, wheeled away from her, his fingers ruffling his hair until it looked as though he’d gotten in the way of an electrical current.

Rose didn’t stick around to hear him finish. She darted past him and raced for the door, taking a right as soon as she was in the corridor.

No matter. He could easily find her again. Just not yet. He would wait a few hours before taking her to the Powell Estate for a night out with her old clubbing mates. As for while she was out, well, he had plans of his own for the evening.

-oOo-

Hours later, Rose wandered into the console room to find him reclining on the yellow chair with his hands laced behind his head and eyes half-closed. With slow movements, he rose to his feet, eyed the monitor. He asked her, “How do you feel about a trip back home to visit your old mates? What were their names, Keisha and Shareen?”

He didn’t pretend to be an expert in human facial expressions, but he thought Rose seemed almost caught off guard. She faltered over her words, but she was finally able to say, “But I’m supposed to be dead. Remember?”

The Doctor shrugged her concern off. “Just tell them they made a mistake identifying the body. It’s wouldn’t be the first time your law enforcement’s mucked up an ID.” A slow grin crept across his face. “Besides, it’ll do you some good to hang out with your friends, catch up, get some fresh air, go clubbing. How about Friday at seven p.m. on June 8, 2007?”

Her teeth worked at her lower lip as she thought it over, and the action nearly drove him mad. Then she nodded. “Okay. And what about you, Doctor? What are you going to do?”

“Oh, I’ll figure out something,” he said, entering the coordinates for the Powell Estate, hands working at the controls. He averted his head so she wouldn’t see the excitement, the anticipation, the odd gleam in his eyes. The Doctor knew she was starting to regain her suspicions about him, and okay, maybe his strange behavior had tipped her off. ’Course, he had killed two people in front of her, yelled at her, stalked her in his own ship, gone through her things, taken her . . . 

A twinge of guilt nudged at him again, along with voices of his past incarnations: his seventh and ninth approved; the others didn’t. He shoved the guilt down and snarled, _Shut it and get lost!_ at his former selves.

The TARDIS settled with a thump moments later. He stepped back from the console, a pleased smile on his face “I did it. Give the man a medal! Earth, Powell Estate, London 2007. Well, go on, then,” he said to Rose. “Don’t want to keep you waiting.”

She gave him a nervous, hesitant smile before heading down the ramp out the police box doors and into the night. Seconds later her head appeared back in the doorway. “No way! We’re right outside Keisha’s flat! How did you—?”

“Remember the whole incident with the water hive and that ‘feast of the drowned’?”

Rose frowned at him. “’Course I do. I was walking caviar for an eel the size of a Chihuahua!”

“Yeah, well, I happened to memorize her address. Are you going to go see her or not?”

Rose backed out. “All right, all right, I’m going!” She shut the door behind her. The Doctor stood in silence for a moment, listening, and grinned when he heard Keisha’s excited scream of “Oh my God! Rose! Shareen, you’ve gotta come see who‘s here!” He couldn’t resist opening the TARDIS door enough for him to see Rose being yanked into the main room of the flat, one of the girls with dark skin—Keisha—while the other had pale skin and flaming red hair--that must be Shareen. Well, at least Rose was in capable hands for the evening.

His grin faded. If his plan was going to work, he needed a change of clothes.

He didn’t want Rose out of his sight for too long, after all, and since he was going to follow her, he didn’t want his regular choice of clothing to give him away. But before ducking into the wardrobe room, he turned on the monitor so that the door to Keisha’s flat was visible. While flicking on the screen, his other hand triggered the sound system. As he disappeared into the depths of the TARDIS, the music followed him.

_“Dark and dirty, like you’ve never seen. A mind so twisted with thoughts so unclean. My heart is racing, all tattered and torn. I stand here naked as the day I was born._

_“Only the lonely will stand. I’m holding the world in my hand. I got to believe. . . .”_

_Isn’t that the truth?_ the Doctor thought wryly. Now that he was inside his ship’s extensive wardrobe, he eyed the choices in front of him critically. What did the human males of this time period wear to clubs?

Eventually he settled on a pair of black jeans, a dark gray T-shirt, and, on a perverse whim, the black leather jacket of his previous life. It hung loosely on his bony frame, but after checking himself out in the mirror, he decided he liked the look. Maybe he should change the color scheme of his suits to black, gray, and red.

He stowed the TARDIS key, sonic screwdriver, and psychic paper in his jacket pocket and was ready for a night out on the club scene.

The song had switched to a new track, one that started with a jungle-type drum beat and dark guitar solo: _“I’m caught in a dream. Sometimes it ain’t what it seems. I’m all in a daze. Can’t fight my way out of this maze. I’m looking for cues. I’m wanting a change in the rules. I’m locked in a cage acting out on the wrong stage. Don’t want your sympathy—no, no, no. Don’t need the third degree—no, no, no. Just got to break away and scream. I’m caught in a dream._

_“I’ve stood at the edge and I’m looking down, caught in the danger zone. I feel like a king that has lost his crown, and now I stand here alone._

_“Don’t want your sympathy, no. Don’t need the third degree, no. Just got to break away and scream. . . .”_

The Doctor left the TARDIS—which was parked a few yards off from the flat—and followed Rose and her mates. He kept far enough back that Rose didn’t notice him, but he could care less about Keisha and Shareen—he wasn’t even sure if Keisha would recognize him.

It took them ten minutes to walk to the nearest club even though he was certain it had taken the human girls several minutes to even dress up for a night out. He rolled his eyes, remembering how long Rose sometimes took in the TARDIS. If she wore less makeup, it wouldn’t be as much of a problem. But that was beside the point. Already the Doctor could hear music blasting from the building, some rock song that sounded suspiciously like “Pour Some Sugar on Me.” It made sense, he supposed, considering both “Sugar” and “Excitable” were basically every stripper’s theme song.

Rose and the girls joined the small crowd milling outside the entrance. The Doctor slipped into the queue directly in front of them, flashed the psychic paper at the guard, and indicated the girls behind him. “They’re with me,” he said in a Scottish accent; he didn’t want Rose recognizing him, at least, not yet.

He could feel her eyes boring into him—had she recognized the voice as the one he’d used at the Torchwood Estate?—but the bouncer let them in and the Doctor slipped away into the crowd before Rose could say anything to him.

“Pour Some Sugar on Me” changed to “Armageddon It” as the Doctor meandered through the crowd, making his way to a shadowy portion of the wall where he could observe Rose without being disturbed. Neon strobe lights flashed over the darkened room, the floor, casting wild, dancing shadows everywhere.

_“Y’better come inside when you’re ready to, but no chance if you don’t wanna dance. You like your four-letter words when you’re ready to, but then you won’t cos you know that you can. You got it, but are you getting it? . . .”_

Rose, Keisha, and Shareen were already moving to the music, and his greedy, possessive gaze locked on his pink-and-yellow girl. She’d left her dyed-blonde hair loose tonight, he noticed, and the flashing lights sent sparks off her red sequined halter top. Her legs were covered by black leather; his fingers itched to peel them away from her skin.

Who knew this body had a fetish for black and red clothing, especially if there was leather involved?

_“They’re solid leather all the way through. Someone’s got one hell of a fetish.”_ His words to Martha about the Slab came back to him, and he smiled at the memory.

His smile faded, face darkening as another bloke came a bit too close to Rose for his liking. Gritting his teeth, the Doctor wove swiftly through the mass of bodies, not caring if he bumped into anyone on his way to intercept the potential threat.

Much to his relief, the bloke asked Shareen to dance, and she went off with him. Keisha left soon after to pounce on a guy she’d had her eye on. That left Rose by herself, but her eyes were closed as she danced, letting the beat fill her and take her away.

He loved watching her when she was like this, just letting go and being, well, _Rose_.

“Armageddon It” faded as he came up behind her—had it really been four minutes already? A new song came on, a pop tune from 2000, it sounded like.

_“All of the day, all of the night, you do the things that make me feel so right . . .”_

He slipped a cool hand under her halter, rested it possessively on her stomach, while his other hand slid down her hip, resting on her thigh. She gasped in surprise. He silenced her with “Easy, love” and a nuzzling kiss to the warm, soft skin of her throat.

She tensed, tried to move away from him, and he pulled her back against him.

“You’re not leaving me just yet,” he murmured, mouth moving up to her ear. “Dance with me, Rose. Please.”

_“. . . It just ain’t the same when you’re away. You are my inspiration. I’m hanging on to every word you say cos you are my motivation. . . .”_

Gradually the tension eased out of her and she relaxed against him. “Doctor?” she asked, voice shaky.

“’Course, love. Unless you were expecting someone else . . .”

“No. It’s just, your voice . . .”

“What about it?”

“It’s just . . . different.”

_“. . . The only time I think of you is every day and all night through. Whenever I breathe, you’re on my mind. . . .”_

“Good different or bad different?” He hadn’t realized he was still using the Scottish accent. As close as they were, he felt her shiver, heard the slight moan as he moved against her. A line from a poem ran through his mind: _“Will you step into my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly._

“Why are you asking?”

“You’re the one who likes it,” he pointed out, and he suddenly placed the current singer’s voice. “Rose, this wouldn’t happen to be you singing, would it?”

“No.”

He could smell the lie. “Don’t lie to me.”

_“. . . I need you tonight, but you’re not around. I need to hear your voice, baby. Something feels strange; there’s not a single sound. . . .”_

“Okay, maybe.”

His mouth found the line of her shoulder; then the skin beneath her neck, between her shoulder blades. A satisfied smile curved his lips as he felt the tremor run through her. “It wouldn’t be about me, would it?” His thumb, the one on her stomach, stroked the flat skin soothingly. He resisted the temptation to slide his hand up further, explore her body in a way he hadn’t the night before, but only just.

There would be time for that later.

_“. . . Cos the only time I think of you is every day and all night through. Whenever I breathe, you’re on my mind. Every day and night, babe. . . .”_

She turned her head, brought one hand up to rest on his thick mess of brown hair. He straightened, nearly purred with contentment.

Then she abruptly pulled away from him, and he silently protested at the loss. Rose turned to face him, her brown eyes blazing. He tensed, remembering what had happened to him the last time she’d been this angry with him.

“You bastard,” she hissed, shoving hard against his chest. If he’d been human, the force of her shove would have him stumbling; as it was, he took a couple steps back.

Annoyance glinted in his eyes. “My parents were married, thank you very much.” He stepped forward, reached out for her. “Rose, come—”

She backed out of his reach, then began running through the crowd, away from him.

His eyes narrowed and he started to follow her. She wouldn’t run away from him again, not after what happened last time. He wouldn’t allow it.

_“. . . Gotta let me know when you’re coming home—when you’re coming home. . . .”_

He didn’t care if he shoved some of the humans out of the way as he wove swiftly through the crowd after Rose. The Doctor had already forgotten about Keisha and Shareen, but if they held him up he would not be responsible for the consequences.

Eventually he burst out into the cool night after Rose. She turned once she left the club, began walking in the opposite direction from whence they’d came.

He was vaguely aware that the music had changed, this time starting with a sax solo. _“Cold sweat, sweat it out in the land of the midnight sun. Walk it off, sort it out, figure out what you’re running from. . . .”_ A bit slow for a club, but he could question the DJ’s choice of music later. A better Pat Benatar song would have been “Heartbreaker,” “Hit Me with Your Best Shot,” “Love is a Battlefield,” “Shadows of the Night” or “Invincible.” It wasn’t up to him, and why was he even thinking about this when he should be focusing on Rose? Yes, it was only a stray thought, but he was irritated with himself for even letting it cross his frankly brilliant Time Lord mind.

Rose was only a couple feet ahead of him and walking quickly. Jealousy raged when he saw the looks she was receiving from a group of males across the street, head the catcalls and wolf-whistles. Rose gave then a passing glance then stopped dead and did a classic double-take.

The Doctor caught up to her, rested a reassuring hand on her upper back. “What is it?” he murmured, narrowed eyes already searching for whatever had spooked her. Even now he wanted to protect her from any outside threat. Or maybe he wanted to keep her away from any potential rival—look what had happened with Adam and Jack, after all.

“Jimmy,” she breathed, pulse racing with apprehension and a little bit of fear. Her skin went cold against his hand.

“Where?” he asked sharply. His eyes homed in on the pack across the street. “Who?”

One of the men peeled away from the group and walked toward them. The Doctor knew instantly that this was Stone even before Rose backed up into him. Almost reflexively, the Doctor wrapped his arms around her, his embrace at once protective and territorial. Something inside him preened at the thought that even after what he’d done to her, she would still turn to him to help her, to keep her safe if she felt she needed it.

As Jimmy came closer, the Doctor could see that yes, he could be defined as another one of Rose’s pretty boys. Stone was about 5’ 6”; had short black hair and green eyes; and was well-built, as if he lifted weights or did some boxing on the side. He had the build for it, whereas this tenth body for the Time Lord had the lean build of a distance runner or a dancer. If the Doctor had to guess at Jimmy’s age, he would say the human was a few years older than Rose—age twenty-four or twenty-five.

“I thought he’d moved,” the Doctor murmured to Rose softly.

“Guess not,” she replied in an almost strangled voice. “Let’s go, Doctor.”

_Too late_ , he thought as Stone finished crossing the street, a cruel light in his eyes as he took in the scene before him. When he spoke, however, it was not to Rose but to the Doctor. “Isn’t she a bit young for you?”

The Doctor bit back a laugh. _If only you knew._ Instead he said coldly, “What’s it to you?” He tightened his grip on Rose’s shoulders, subtly positioned her so she was behind him.

Stone avoided the question, flicked his gaze to Rose. “You’re looking good, Rose. How long’s it been? Five years?”

“If I wanted to find you, I would have. Now leave me alone.” Rose slipped past the Doctor, started to walk by Stone. She froze when her ex grabbed her upper arm, his grip tight enough to bruise the skin.

The Doctor forced down a growl and reacted quickly. In the next two seconds, Rose was free and the Time Lord had Stone pinned by the collar and up against the wall of the nearest building.

“Hey! Who do you—”

The Doctor leaned in close, cold fury simmering off him. “The only reason you’re still alive,” he said quietly, menacingly, “is because I didn’t know you existed until today. If you ever try to contact Rose again, if you even think about finding her, I will track you down and I _will_ kill you. Understand?”

Stone wasn’t smart enough to look scared. _More’s the pity._ “What’s a skinny strip of nothing like you going to do?”

“Use your imagination.” He tightened his hold on Stone’s neck, gradually increasing the pressure on his trachea until the human was choking for breath. Then the Doctor eased up on the pressure. “Next time, I won’t bother with a warning. You get only one, and that was it.”

_Now_ Stone looked worried, the Doctor noted with grim satisfaction. He stepped back, releasing the human; and went back to Rose, slipping a possessive arm around her.

Stone didn’t give them any trouble after that.

-oOo-

Rose kept stealing glances at the Doctor, trying to puzzle out what had happened to him. What was up with the change in his clothes, especially the jacket belonging to his old self?

It wasn’t just the clothing. He’d been acting strange—well, stranger than normal—ever since she’d returned to him.

Her throat closed off as she remembered last night, and she fought back a wave of nausea. How had she allowed him to touch her back in the club? She’d known it was him in the queue: She would recognize that lean frame and black leather jacket anywhere. As for his voice, that Scottish accent he used did things to her. And when they’d been dancing together, caught up as she was in the spell woven by lights and heat and music, Rose had been unable to stop her body from responding to his touch, his kiss, the feel of him against her.

Even after what he’d done to her, she still wanted him—or, her body did, anyway.

God, what did that say about her?

The thought terrified her, chilled her.

Rose was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t realize where he was taking her, only that they’d walked past the nightclub.

Keisha and Shareen—would they be mad at her for bailing on them? Or would they have even noticed her absence? It had been months since she’d last seen them, after all, and even then her and Keisha had already started to drift apart.

She still couldn’t believe that Keisha and Mickey . . . The thought of her best friend shagging her ex was so _wrong_ that she couldn’t accept it. Even though Mickey had tried explaining, Rose had shrugged him off before he could say anything more than _nothing happened_.

Thinking about that reminded her of another row they’d had back in Cardiff, when her, the Doctor, and Captain Jack—yes, okay, and Mickey—had to deal with Margaret the Slitheen and her and Mickey had gone for a walk, just to talk. It had escalated from there.

That Cardiff memory had her thinking about Captain Jack. If they could find him, maybe he could help her figure out exactly what was wrong with the Doctor, if he was under an evil influence or something.

But even if he was possessed, surely Rose would have seen something, noticed something out of place that shouldn’t be on the TARDIS—a portable Kandrona ray or whatever.

Mentally, she rolled her eyes. Mickey had left too many Animorphs books lying around when they were younger, and yes, he’d convinced her to read a few of them. Even though she knew aliens were real, she’d yet to come across any Arn, Taxxons, Hork-Bajir, Yeerks, or Andalites in her travels.

Maybe she should ask the Doctor about it. Then again, maybe not. For all she knew, that was in a parallel universe or alternate timeline or something, and she wasn’t keen on the idea of having a parasitic alien slug in her brain. Besides, with the way the Doctor was acting, he’d probably _let_ her be infested.

. . . And her mind was running away with her again. Rose shook her head to clear it, and finally noticed the dark blue shape of the TARDIS, the lettering along the top glowing yellow in the night.

She stopped dead in her tracks, missed the Doctor’s questioning look. She couldn’t go back in there, she just _couldn’t_ . . .

“Rose?”

She heard his voice, but it was as if from underwater.

_“Rose.”_ His voice was firmer now; his hold around her waist tightened as he led her to the door of his ship, his home . . . _her prison._ “Come on.”

This time, he wouldn’t let her leave. Her blood ran cold at the thought.

What was he planning for her?

-oOo-

The Doctor closed the doors behind them and shed his jacket as he walked up the metal ramp, slinging it over the nearest coral strut. It felt strange wearing jeans with a T-shirt instead of his usual suit, but he could deal with it for a little longer. Besides, his last body had worn nothing but what he had on now.

Rose, the instant he let go of her waist, retreated to the opposite side of the console room—as far away from him as she could get. He frowned, trying to understand her reaction. How much had she heard of what he’d said to Jimmy Stone? Even so, that couldn’t be the only reason she was acting so skittish around him.

“Rose, what’s wrong?”

She glared at him, body trembling. “Like you don’t know,” she hissed. “You _raped me_ , Doctor!”

He shrugged carelessly. “That’s not how I see it. You wanted me—still do.” He came around the console, moved closer to her. “Don’t even bother denying it.”

She stumbled back from him, fear in her eyes. Something in him clenched at seeing that. He didn’t want her scared of him, not now, not ever. Whatever she may think, he still loved her. In his own twisted Time Lord way, yes, but he _did_ love her. And yet . . . something else in him loved seeing that terror in her whiskey-colored eyes.

She turned, fled down the corridors to her room. The Doctor waited a few heartbeats before following at a leisurely pace. He had just rounded the corner that led to her room when he heard the door slam. A minute later, his ears picked up the sound of running water—she must be drawing a bath. Odd. Well, she had worked up a sweat while dancing, but he suspected that wasn’t the only reason. As he came closer, the Doctor smelled scented bubble bath, remembered that she would sometimes soak after a particularly dangerous adventure to relax and soothe any aching muscles. She shouldn’t be sore at all—he’d taken care of that—so that probably meant...

Suddenly he realized the sound of water had stopped and gentle splashing sounds were emanating from the smaller room. He was outside Rose’s room by now, and he quietly entered.

It was dark, but his eyes easily adjusted. A thin beam of gold light revealed the outline of the bathroom door, but he decided to wait a few more minutes before interrupting. His resolve, however, was sorely tested when his ears caught her moans of pleasure and contentment. Instantly a wet, naked Rose filled his mind’s eye, her lips parted and eyes closed as she enjoyed the hot water and floating bubbles. Desire snaked through his veins, quickened his hearts, but he tamped it down. That was not what he wanted tonight—at least, not yet.

When he’d calculated that five minutes had passed, he rose from the edge of her bed, headed for the golden outline of her bathroom door. He slipped silently inside, closed the door behind him, and only then let himself take her in.

Rose’s eyes flew open. Startled, she instinctively shrank back, hands drawing the mounds of bubbles closer to grant her cover. “What’re you—”

“Ssshhh,” he silenced her, taking a step closer. He leaned one hip against the counter, hooded eyes resting on her face. “You didn’t think I was going to leave you alone for long, were you, Rose? You’re so danger-prone, even for a human. Anything can happen.”

Her light-brown eyes blazed. “Get _out_!” A bottle of hair product arced through the air toward him.

He caught it easily, set it on the counter. “No.” There was ice in his voice but heat in his eyes.

Panic flashed in Rose’s eyes; then it was gone. “Something’s wrong, Doctor. We can take you to Jack. Maybe he can—”

She broke off when he knelt down, braced his hands on the edge of the tub, and thrust his face close to hers. In a low growl he said, “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“I don’t believe that. Neither would Jack.”

“Forget about him,” the Doctor hissed. His fingertips dug into the ceramic edge as his grip tightened. He heard her heart rate speed up, and his eyes dropped from her face to what he could see of her body underneath the water. His gaze lingered on the dark patch between her thighs, her stomach, what little he could see of her breasts, before he brought it back to her face.

“Wh—” she began. He cut her off.

“Like I didn’t see you looking at him when we first met,” he said scathingly, voice low, “wanting to wrap your legs around him like a bitch in heat.” One hand slid into the water, glided across her skin.

Rose pulled away, out of his reach. “I never touched Jack,” she insisted. “He never tried anything with me, not after I introduced him to you. Jack’s like a brother to me; you know that. What’s wrong with you? Every time he’s mentioned you avoid checking in on him or you flinch.”

The Doctor bit back a growl. “I can’t stand being around him. He’s a mistake, a living fixed point in time and space.” His hand trailed up her side, rested on the swell of her left breast. “He works for Torchwood, Rose.”

Shock flared in her eyes even as she slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me!” she yelped. Then, as his words sank in, she shook her head. “No. He—”

The Doctor pulled his hand from the water, let the bubble residue rinse off. “Forget about him,” he repeated in a low growl. Heated eyes swept over her in one last, lingering look. Then he abruptly stood and whirled around, practically gliding away from her.

He left her shattered, feeling as if the world was falling apart around her.

So?

She was _his_ now. He’d made sure of it.

A tiny smile played on his lips as he remembered the scene in the club, the feeling of being inside her.

Rose would come to him, he knew.

She always did.

_From you love was kind  
Resolved, left scarred and blind  
Wasted and naked in the wings_

_Denying twist of fate  
Demanding heaven’s gate  
Lying in wait above the wind_

_Strung out as the night comes calling  
Your halo of thorns is falling. . . ._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's the third and last chapter. Some scenes were inspired by Nicci French's _Secret Smile, Charmed_ season one's "Dream Sorcerer", and Beth Fantasky's YA novel _Jekel Loves Hyde_ (don't knock the title; it's actually pretty good). I also nicked a line from Aki Kirito, a main character in the manga series _Pureblood Boyfriend_.
> 
> This chapter is NSFW.
> 
> Warnings: dub-con; non-con; dream sex; unbalanced, possessive, amoral Doctor. And he has a thing for knife- and blood-play. There's also _that_ line from _Secret Smile_.
> 
> This chapter also contains quotes from "Bleed (I Must Be Dreaming)", "Haunted", "Even in Death", and "Snow White Queen" by Evanescence. There are also quotes from the Wiccan Rede. If this offends you, just skip those lines.
> 
> I don't know how my mind comes up with this stuff. I really don't.

Two days passed, during which Rose made no attempt to contact him. He was mildly annoyed with that, but as they were still in space, it wasn’t like she was going anywhere anytime soon. Still, she had been acting even more skittish around him since he’d . . . taken her—but she’d been cagey even before then.

Was she beginning to suspect? No, how could she? Yet he knew Rose was smart, and eventually she would catch on.

She’d already suggested they go see Jack, after all.

A small growl escaped from his throat at the thought of the former Time Agent, the ex-con. Even _thinking_ about Jack made him feel uncomfortable. Still, going to see the Torchwood agent was out of the question.

The Doctor shook his head to clear it, set down the book he’d been reading, and rose. Movement helped him think, kept him focused. It was not in his nature to wait, to be patient, to be still. Yet he could be when the situation called for it—especially when an enemy invoked his darker side.

He may call himself the Doctor, but sometimes he reminded himself more of a nogitsune—a dark kitsune, a trickster that fed off chaos, strife, and pain.

Even the Master had been scared of the Valeyard, the personification of the Doctor’s evil nature, and a smile twitched on his lips at the thought. The Master may be a sociopath and Death’s Champion, but somehow he never seemed to be all that terrifying. Besides, if the Doctor was going to take over and destroy Earth, he would have come up with a better plan than having the future humans come back to exterminate their ancestors. Maybe he was mixing his species, but still. He wouldn’t have kick-started the whole event by assassinating the President of the United States.

When he’d been on board the _Valiant,_ it had been difficult to keep playing the part of the poor, helpless, hopeless prisoner. For all his speeches to Martha and Jack about saving the Master, it had been so hard to restrain from killing the other Time Lord. When Jack had mentioned shooting the Master, a very large part of the Doctor had wanted to let the Torchwood agent shoot and kill the other renegade Time Lord. But he couldn’t, oh no, not the righteous, pacifist _Doctor._ Not without raising suspicion. So he’d protested, said he had no intention of killing the Master.

In the end the Master had died, shot by his wife; Jack had returned to his Torchwood team; and Martha had left him, after giving this dramatic speech on how she couldn’t take her unrequited love for him anymore.

It wasn’t like he’d been that upset by her leaving, in any event. Afterwards, on the _Titanic_ , he hadn’t even been looking for another companion. Astrid had just sort of happened—but she’d sacrificed herself before he could show her the TARDIS. Maybe he’d wanted to bring her along because she reminded him of Rose.

_Rose._

He stopped pacing, looked at the empty open doorway. Silently, he asked his ship to show him Rose’s location. The TARDIS responded by showing him an image of his companion sleeping in bed, her room dark. Of course. It was the equivalent of eleven o’clock at night back on Earth. She must be knackered, considering everything she’d gone through recently.

He could also use that to his advantage. It had been a while since he’d practiced his telepathic abilities, after all.

-oOo-

_A murky river flows sluggishly through dark trees. He makes no sound as he strides across the forest floor; then he pauses, looks up at the waning gibbous moon in the sky. His lip curls in a sneer, and the feel of metal hidden in his sleeve is warm on his cool skin. It’s reassuring, in a way._

_The water grows louder, its rhythm now matching the four-beat pulse of his hearts. If he looks closely, he can see the faint outline of rocks._

He _won’t be the one to spill onto the rocks at his feet—or into the river. Not tonight, not ever. (It’s not one of his preferred ways to regenerate, but that is beside the point.)_

_“Doctor?”_

_His ears prick up at the scared, feminine voice, and he focuses in on where it came from. As he moves closer, he sees her._

_Her back is to him, but he can see she’s in a white tank and blue jeans. Her blonde hair is almost luminescent in the moonlight, and he licks his lips in anticipation._

_“Doctor, this isn’t funny! Where are you?!” She’s looking around, yes, but not behind her. Quietly, cautiously, he pads forward. He stops when he’s right behind her, slips his arms around her. One hand rests on her flat stomach; the other is on her waist. She jumps, startled, but he quiets her by saying, “I’m right here, love” softly in her ear, teeth gently catching her earlobe before he moves down to her neck._

_She sighs, nestles against his chest. His hand on her stomach moves up to cup her breasts; and he’s pleased to note she’s braless. Oh, she’s so soft, so eager and willing beneath his hungry mouth and roving hands._

_Then she tenses and starts to pull away from him. “Doctor, what are you doing here? What am_ I _doing here?” She’s trying to turn, to search his eyes for the truth, and he won’t have any of it. He pulls her flush against him, distracts her by licking the salt from her skin._

_“Doctor!” He knows what she’s going to say before she says it, mouths the next words along with her: “Answer me!”_

_He lifts his head and smirks, though she can’t see it. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m in your dream, inside your head.” She goes cold beneath his touch as he continues, “Did you know some cultures believe what happens in a dream happens in real life?”_

_He doesn’t give her a chance to answer, because he’s backing them up until he hits a tree, turns her so that she’s facing him, and claims her mouth with his own. Dual desires are fighting within him, but he already knows which one to sate first._

_He’ll take her over, and then he’ll take her life._

_If she does say anything to him when she wakes—well, it_ is _just a dream._

 _He smiles at the thought. One hand tangles in her golden hair; the other slides between them to undo her jeans. It’s hard—no, difficult—using one hand but he manages, easily takes care of her knickers—and_ oh _she’s so wet already, liquid heat coating his probing, slender fingers. There’s a moan—he’s not sure if it’s his, hers, or theirs—and he pulls back from her mouth, withdraws his fingers from her heat._

_He knows what he wants, and this isn’t it._

_“On your knees,” he orders, voice low and little more than a growl._

_She sinks to her knees before him, but not before undoing his shirt and trailing lightly-scratching nails down his torso and abdomen. Then— Oh gods,_ yes. _Despite himself, a groan spills from his throat, the back of his head knocks against the tree, and his eyes roll back. He’s seen a lot, done a lot in his long life—but not this, never this._

_It’s not long before she has a rhythm going, but then she adds her teeth and tongue, and— He mutters a curse, his hips rocking forward, and hits the back of her throat. He stays there for a few seconds then draws back._

_If she keeps this up, he won’t last much longer._

_He doesn’t._

_Her back is against the tree now, her legs hooked around his waist, and he’s buried deep inside her. He rests there for a moment, reveling in the heat of her and allowing her to adjust; then he starts a slow, steady rhythm that he knows will bring her to the edge but not enough to send her over. No,_ he’ll _decide when to tear her apart. More than that, he_ wants _to hear her beg, to make her scream._

_So he does._

_Only after, when her climax has left her trembling and loose in his embrace, does he slip the blade from his sleeve and lightly trace the skin of her throat with its razor-sharp edge._

_She is confused, naturally, and doesn’t understand._

_“Doctor, what are you doing?”_

_In answer, he lightly draws the knife down her throat to collarbone then sternum, resting it mere centimeters above the line running between her breasts. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as his greedy eyes crawl over her naked body._

_Understanding dawns in her eyes, along with terror. “No!” She jerks her upper body backwards, twists to get away from the knife; and her movement sends delicious friction to where they’re still joined, with him still hard and fully aroused. A growl escapes him; she freezes, her terrified eyes locked on him. “Don’t, please,” she whispers. “This isn’t you.”_

Oh, but it is, _he thinks. He plunges the blade into her chest, through sternum and muscle till it reaches her heart, loving every second dark red blood flows over his hands—loving her for her sacrifice._

 _As the light fades from her eyes, all he can see in them is one question:_ Why?

-oOo-

The Doctor severed the connection with Rose’s mind and his fingers instantly flew to her carotid artery to check her pulse. Almost involuntarily, he breathed a sigh of relief. Good. She was still alive: Her pulse beat strong and steady beneath his fingertips. And she was in the REM cycle of sleep, so chances were she would have no memory of this dream.

She was beautiful, he thought as he studied her sleeping form. So, so beautiful. . . . And she was his, solely _his_. No one else would have her. Not Jimmy Stone; not Mickey the idiot, the tin dog; and _definitely_ not Captain Jack Harkness. If Stone or Jack tried to find her, tried anything with her . . . Well, _he_ wouldn’t be responsible for the consequences.

_Mind the Threefold Law you should, three times bad and three times good. . . . Be true in love this you must do unless your love is false to you. . . . An’ ye harm none, do what ye will. . . ._

The Doctor frowned. Where had that come from? Yes, he recognized the lines as coming from the Wiccan Rede—but he wasn’t Wiccan, wasn’t even human. He wasn’t even sure where he had first heard the phrases, or why they were circling around in his head now.

_Harm none. . . ._

_Oh, shut up,_ he snarled silently.

Much to his relief, the voices faded.

Rose stirred in her sleep. The Doctor, realizing he’d probably overstayed his welcome, stepped back and slipped out of her room, a small smile on his lips as he shut her door and sauntered away.

Now all he had to do was wait for her to wake.

-oOo-

When Rose came to some hours later, she was suddenly aware of an odd taste in her mouth. She pushed back the covers and padded over to the restroom for some water. After spitting and setting the cup back in place, she glanced up to see her reflection in the mirror—and froze.

Her lips were swollen, hair disheveled (and not in a bedhead way, more like a recently-been-thoroughly-snogged-and-shagged way), and—what was that on her neck?

Rose slapped a hand to her neck, but when she looked again in the mirror . . . There was nothing there.

Spooked, she stepped back—and bolted. Her feet took her down the endless, twisting corridors until she skidded to a halt next to the open library door. Cautiously, she stuck her head around the doorframe, saw the Doctor, and reflexively pulled back before glancing in again. To her relief, his back was turned to her. Carefully, she made her way into the library, mentally frowning as she took in his appearance. Where was his suit, his armor? Was that leather he was wearing?

The Doctor suddenly whirled around, as if he’d sensed her standing there. Rose’s insides froze and she fought the urge to turn away from him. Lines from a song played in her head: _How can I pretend that I don’t see what you hide so carelessly? I saw her bleed. You heard me breathe, and I froze inside myself and turned away. I must be dreaming._

_We all live and we all die, but that does not begin to justify you._

_It’s not what it seems, not what you think. No, I must be dreaming. . . ._

“Something wrong, Rose?”

_It’s only in my mind, not in real life. No, I must be dreaming. . . ._

“Rose?” Brown eyes bored into hers; cool hands gripped her biceps and triceps. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

_Help, you know I’ve got to tell someone. Tell them what I know you’ve done. . . ._

“ _Rose_. Answer me.”

Her eyes flicked down to his hands; for a moment, they appeared to be stained red with blood. She blinked, and the illusion was gone. His hands were clean, like always.

Well, not always.

“What happened to you, Doctor?” Rose heard herself ask. “What the hell are you changing into?”

_I fear you, but spoken fears can come true. . . ._

His grip on her tightened almost reflexively, then loosened. Then he was embracing her, her head resting against his chest, and she forced herself to relax even as her body reacted to his closeness. It shocked her, scared her, that she still wanted him, still craved him even after what he’d done to her roughly four days ago.

“Rose, you really don’t want to know,” he murmured into her hair. His hands were now rubbing circles on her back, easing the tension out of her muscles. It felt good, soothing even, and Rose relaxed despite herself. “Now,” he said, “what made you come looking for me?”

He’d been asking her that for a while now, she realized dimly, but now she couldn’t remember why. Something she’d seen in the mirror, a trick of the light or her imagination, waking up with an odd taste and dry mouth? A dream? Maybe. It wasn’t as if he would take her seriously, and his behavior right now . . . almost as if he’d been _wanting_ her to come to him, had been expecting her . . .

Icy shivers raced down her back, spread throughout her body. Was he looking at her funny? What was that in his eyes? He’d been watching her ever since she’d returned to him . . .

“I—I don’t know,” Rose heard herself stammer. “Must’ve gotten spooked or something.” She tried to sound casual, tried to shrug it off. If only he would let her go . . . Why was he still holding her?

The track that had been playing in her head morphed into a new one: _Long lost words whisper slowly to me. Still can’t find what keeps me here when all this time I’ve been so hollow inside. . . ._

“Want to talk about it?”

She shook her head and pulled back. “No. It’s nothing. I was probably just imagining things.”

Almost reluctantly it seemed, he released his hold on her. “If you ever want to talk . . .,” he offered.

Rose glared at him. “Oh, _now_ you’re being considerate,” she snapped. Before he could reply, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the library, feeling his gaze scorch into the skin of her back.

_I know you’re still there watching me, wanting me. I can feel you pull me down. Fearing you, loving you. I won’t let you pull me down. . . ._

-oOo-

The Doctor watched her go, fought back a wordless snarl. His hands curled and uncurled, his nails digging into his palms. If that was the way she was going to play it, he’d have to come up with another plan to get her back. He supposed he could go into her mind and alter her memories of that night, but where was the fun in that?

Besides, the TARDIS was due for another refueling trip soon, and as much as he loathed the idea of letting Rose anywhere _near_ Jack—as much as he hated being around the former Time Agent turned head of Torchwood—it would be good to catch up.

Just so long as he kept Rose close to him and kept a careful eye on Jack, Ianto, and the other members of Torchwood Three.

He sniffed, shook his head briskly to clear it, then walked out of the library, following Rose’s scent. A verse from an Evanescence song ran through his mind: _Hunting you, I can smell you—alive. Your heart pounding in my head. . . ._ Odd, how appropriate that song was for their situation. But this body of his couldn’t help wanting her, needing her. He’d been a wreck after she was trapped in Pete’s World, had been a complete git—and more than that—to Martha. The Master had been right about his dark-skinned companion, he realized. As for Reinette, she’d been _nothing_ to him. Looking back, his relationship—such as it was—with the French woman had been downright creepy. She’d become obsessed with him, had thought herself in love with him, and he’d only known her for less than a day—hardly enough time for him to return the powerful feelings Reinette had deluded herself into thinking she had for him. Besides that, she’d looked into his mind without his permission, had seen his most secret memories. She shouldn’t have been able to do that in the first place, and when he severed the link he’d felt horrified and incredibly _violated_. Rose had told him about her conversation with Reinette later, how the Doctor was worth the monsters and they both knew it—you couldn’t have one without the other—and he’d seethed inside. How _dare_ Reinette talk that way to Rose! Just because the French aristocrat had seen inside his head, she suddenly thought she was _better_ than Rose, knew him better than Rose did? _Horseshit._

There was nothing he could do about it now, anyway. Reinette was dead—had been for years—and he’d put her behind him. Still, maybe he could pop back into her timeline sometime . . . He smirked. Oh, he’d enjoy _that_ conversation.

Anyway. Where exactly was Rose? The Doctor silently asked his ship to show him Rose’s location, and the TARDIS sent him an image of Rose on the yellow seat in the console room.

Good. He’d been going there anyway.

-oOo-

Rose stiffened when she heard footsteps, jerk her head in the direction she’d heard them come from.

The Doctor stood there in the doorway, eyes on her ( _Watching me, wanting me. I can feel you pull me down. Saving me, raping me, watching me._ ) andthen he stepped forward, began working at the controls.

“Where are we going?”

“The TARDIS needs a refueling trip.”

Rose frowned. “But we’ve only been here for a couple weeks.” _Haven’t we?_

The Doctor shook his head. “No. It’s been over a month, Rose.”

She paled, forced down bile. “Oh God. You . . . You . . .”

“No. You’re not. Shouldn’t be, at least, I don’t think. I’m close to human but not _that_ close. More close to vampire than anything else. There’s a two percent difference between Gallifreyan and Vampire DNA. Then again, your lot can be turned vamp as well, so who knows?”

“Not helping.”

He said nothing, just looked at her with those dark brown, almost black eyes, and her traitorous body flooded with fire, then ice.

_Watching me, wanting me. I can feel you pull me down. Fearing you, loving you. I won’t let you pull me down. . . ._

A past conversation came back to her now: _“You_ raped _me, Doctor!”_

_“That’s not how I see it. You wanted me—still do. Don’t even bother denying it.”_

_We all live and we all die, but that does not begin to justify you. . . . You know I’ve got to tell someone, tell them what I know you’ve done. . . . Fearing you, loving you, I won’t let you pull me down. . . . I fear you, but spoken fears can come true. . . . It’s not what it seems, not what you think. No, I must be dreaming. . . . It’s only in my mind, not in real life. . . . I must be dreaming. . . ._

Then her mind seized on something he’d said, driving the soundtrack out of her head. “A refueling trip means Cardiff, yeah? Doesn’t that also mean Captain Jack?”

The Doctor turned his head away, his body tense. “Yes,” he said curtly, as if he’d chewed on the word before angrily spitting it out. “Unfortunately.”

“What part of ’Jack’s like a brother to me’ don’t you understand?” she snapped. “He’s just a good friend. That’s _it_.”

“I told you, Rose, he works for Torchwood,” the Doctor growled, rounding on her. “He’s the head of his own little team in Cardiff, and they’re all that’s left of the Institute.”

“Maybe he’s changed it.”

He scoffed. “That’s what he said, but I didn’t believe him.”

She frowned as a thought occurred to her. “Hang on. How did he get to Cardiff?”

“His Vortex manipulator. Really lousy way to time travel, if you ask me. I’ve got a sports car; he’s got a . . . a grasshopper.”

Rose smiled, but it soon faded. “What did you mean earlier, about him being a mistake? A living fixed point, you said.”

For once, the Doctor looked uncomfortable. “Forget it. Besides, it’s not my place to tell you.”

Rose raised an eyebrow. “So we _are_ going to see him, then.”

“Dunno. Maybe, maybe not.” Under his breath he muttered, “I hope to Rassilon we don’t.”

Rose scowled.

He pretended not to see it.

-oOo-

The Doctor and Rose had only just stepped out of the TARDIS when a familiar voice yelling their names had them turning around and laying eyes on Captain Jack Harkness. Rose smiled at the sight of the American; the Doctor resisted the very strong urge to yank her back into the TARDIS with him and whisk her far away from the immortal human who _shouldn’t even exist._

Then Jack was on them, sweeping him and Rose into a group hug before the Time Lord  could protest. After what seemed like eons but was only five seconds, the Captain released them and stepped back.

“You found her, then, Doctor?”

“No,” the Doctor corrected him coldly, “she found me.” (Did people really underestimate Rose that much? Even her own family, even Jack?)

Jack turned his gaze on Rose, a smile on his face, and the Doctor found himself wishing Jack would give him an excuse to punch him. _Then again . . . better not._ Still, being so close to the immortal human was making his teeth itch. After a moment, he snapped, “Were you going to give us the guided tour, or just say hi and watch us leave?”

Jack’s blue eyes narrowed. Maybe he had been a bit brusque, but the Doctor couldn’t bring himself to care. He just wanted Rose as far away from Jack as quickly as possible.

“Considering your initial reaction when I told you I was working for Torchwood,” the ex-Time Agent said, “I didn’t think you want anything to do with it or me.” (The Doctor kept his face carefully expressionless.) “But if you really want to, I guess I could introduce you to the team and show you around.” His eyes slid to Rose once more. “That okay?”

Rose gave a reluctant, hesitant nod.

Jack flashed her a reassuring smile, gave the Doctor a guarded questioning look, and then turned and strode toward the pavement near the waterfall memorial. “This way.”

-oOo-

The Doctor would be hard-pressed to admit it, but he was impressed by Torchwood Three’s headquarters, referred to by Jack as the Hub. There was plenty of space, multiple hidden levels—he was sure of it—and the pteranadon flying around was really cool. It was definitely darker and grittier than TorchwoodTower, and there were only four other humans down there apart from Jack. Another reason he liked it so much may or may not have something to do with the rift energy—he could sense it running like a current just underneath this underground lair. So close, yet so far. All that radiation, all that time energy. . . . Did the Cardiff team know they were sitting on a dam about to burst?

The tiny platform they were on finally landed, tearing him out of his thoughts. Curious faces turned to him and Rose as they followed Jack off of the pavement square.

“Doctor, Rose,” Jack said, “meet my team. Our resident medical examiner is Owen Harper.” A pale-skinned man in his mid-to-late-twenties with thin lips and close-cropped dark hair lazily raised a hand. The team leader continued, “Computer technician is Toshinko Sato”—a Japanese woman with dark glasses nodded in their direction—“and Gwen Cooper is our newest recruit. She used to be a cop.” Both the Doctor and Rose did a double-take. Gwen looked exactly like . . .

“You wouldn’t happen to have an ancestor named Gwyneth, would you?” the Doctor asked her. “Died in 1869?”

“Yeah,” Gwen replied, puzzled. “What of it?”

“You look just like her.”

Gwen opened her mouth like she was going to say something, but Jack hurriedly introduced the last member of the team, a man who was wearing a smart suit and watching from the balcony: “And this is Ianto Jones. He looks after us, keeps the general public from finding out the truth about us, and cleans up our messes.”

“And you don’t pay me enough for it,” Ianto called down jokingly.

 Jack met Ianto’s eyes for a long moment, then cleared his throat and looked away. “Anyway. Everyone, this is John Smith—”

“Call me ‘the Doctor,’” the Time Lord interrupted quickly.

“—and Rose Tyler.”

 “Doctor who?” Gwen asked. At the same time Owen said, “Doctor what?”

“It’s just ‘the Doctor,’” the Doctor said. To Owen he added, “And don’t give me any rubbish on having to earn the title. I chose it as my name for a reason. And well, I guess I’m a doctor of almost anything and everything.” His eyes narrowed as he studied Torchwood’s medical officer. There was something off, something not right . . . The Doctor stepped closer, tried to examine Owen’s time stream—and found it was difficult to sense the human’s future. Besides that, no human should be that pale, not unless they were . . . “You should be lying in a coffin right now,” he told Owen flatly.

“I’ve tried that. Several times.” Owen’s mouth twisted in a sad imitation of a smile. “I can’t die, and yet I’m dead. How ironic is that?”

Only one way as to how that could have happened flared in the Doctor’s mind. He turned to Jack and snarled, “What did you do, Jack? What the _hell_ did you do?” The others jumped at his sudden anger, but he didn’t care.

“I didn’t—” Jack started to protest.

“The Resurrection Glove, Jack!”

Captain Jack’s jaw tightened. “ _I_ didn’t do anything. Owen was killed during a mission; we used the glove to bring him back for a few minutes so we could pay our respects; and something went wrong. It’s not _my_ fault.”

The Doctor scoffed derisively. “‘If it’s alien, it’s ours’, right? That’s your motto.”

“Not anymore. And I had _nothing_ to do with the Battle of Canary Wharf, Doctor. Or weren’t you paying attention when we last met?”

He could sense everyone else watching him, could sense them backing away, but the Doctor had eyes only for Jack. And Rose, of course—his precious Rose. “I was, but as you may recall, we also had to deal with another renegade Time Lord at the time.”

Rose flinched at that. “You said there weren’t any Time Lords left, that you were the only one who survived the Time War. You said you’d sense it if there were others.”

His mouth twitched. “Not if they’d turned themselves human—which this one did. And he wasn’t one of the nice ones, Rose.”

“And what happened to him?” she asked, voice wary and maybe just a little scared—of him, perhaps?

“He’s dead. I burned his body.” He said it matter-of-factly, like it didn’t really upset him that he was now truly the last of the Time Lords. “The universe is better off without him.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Funny, I seem to remember you sobbing over his body and begging him to regenerate.”

“That was then. This is now.” His hand found Rose’s, and he tightly intertwined his fingers with hers. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to get out of here and to take Rose with him. They’d been here long enough, and he was not looking forward to being held captive, studied, and possibly tortured.

It was only a matter of time before Jack’s team realized he was Torchwood’s number one enemy, and he wanted to be long gone before then. And while he was fairly certain Jack was shagging Ianto, he didn’t like the look of Owen much—even if the human was the walking dead.

“I hate to interrupt,” Owen said suddenly, doing just that, “but will someone tell us what the bloody _hell_ is going on here?”

“Jack told you. I’m the Doctor and this is Rose.”

“That doesn’t tell us much.”

“I’d prefer to keep it that way. I’m not overly fond of you lot, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“We’d noticed,” Owen said dryly.

Toshinko suddenly asked, “Are you alien?”

“Rose is human.”

“But you’re not?”

“Yes, I’m not. And really, don’t you lot even _check_ your records? You should have guns pointed at me by now—not that I’m complaining.”

“You were at Canary Wharf, yes?”

“We both were. And the whole reason that battle took place was because _your organization_ was _stupid_ enough to widen a hole in the fabric of reality and allow Cybermen from a parallel universe—and _Daleks_ —through the Void. Naturally, _I_ had to fix everything. _Humans_! You can never leave well enough alone, can you? Always have to muck something up, and someone almost always dies in the process—all in the name of _progress_ or _duty_ or _for queen and country_.” He barked out a harsh, disdainful laugh that died in an instant. “Sometimes I wonder why I like your species so much.”

Then, taking them all by surprise, he wheeled around and started heading for stairs that went to a lower level, taking Rose with him. “Let’s see what’s down here, shall we?”

 Jack was the only member of the Cardiff team who followed them down.

-oOo-

Rose stopped dead when she saw the Weevil. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s a Weevil,” Jack explained. “There’s a whole group of them running loose around Cardiff, and we make it our job to catch as many of them as we can. They’re nocturnal, mostly; are time sensitive; and usually hang around in the sewers and underbelly of the city. We actually had to shut down an underground fight club that was pitting humans against Weevils.”

Sudden anger blazed in the Doctor’s eyes. “They were _what_?” he snarled.

The Weevil, the one Jack’s team had named Margaret, backed up in the cell.

“Doctor, relax,” Jack said quickly. “We closed it down months ago.”

 A memory flashed, and suspicion dawned. “When I came here to refuel with Martha and you hitched a joyride on the outside of the TARDIS, I’d noticed the Rift had been active. That was you lot, wasn’t it?”

Jack’s blue eyes went ice-cold. “I tried to stop it, to stop Owen. You weren’t there, Doctor, so don’t even try to make it sound like you’re better than us. You come and go, leave the rest of us to clean up after you and handle what comes next.” A facial muscle twitched. “You have _no idea_ what we’ve had to deal with.”

“Careful, Jack. You’re starting to sound like Harriet Jones, former Prime Minister.”

“That _was_ you, then.”

“Yes.”

If Jack was surprised, he didn’t show it. “I’d suspected as much.”

“I brought down her entire government in just six words. Imagine what I could do to what remains of your Torchwood Institute.”

 Jack’s gaze went twenty degrees colder. “No one should have that much power.”

“Tough.”

A small, warm, human hand slipped into his; then a feminine voice with a London accent said softly, “Doctor, don’t. Please. You don’t have to do anything. The ones who were responsible are already dead. You heard Jack—him and his team had nothing to do with the Cybermen and the Daleks. He said he’s changed Torchwood, and I believe him. What about you, Doctor? Answer me this time: What are you changing into?”

For a long moment, he said nothing. In his mind’s eye he could see her grip on the handle slipping, could hear her horrified scream and his own anguished cries as she fell toward the rippling hole between universes. He could see her standing on a beach, the wind whipping at her blonde hair, tears in her eyes as her voice broke when she confessed that she loved him . . . and then nothing. The connection had faded before he could say three simple words.

 _Give me a reason to believe that you_ _’_ _re gone,_ a female voice sang in his head. _I see your shadow, so I know they_ _’_ _re all wrong. Moonlight on the soft brown earth, it leads me to where you lay._

“They took you away from me,” he reminded her in a low voice so Jack wouldn’t hear. _But now I_ _’_ _m taking you home._

“Let it go, Doctor.” Her soft voice was reassuring, soothing, cut through the red haze clouding his vision. Still, he wanted himself and Rose _out_ of there—and for good reason. Jack may have travelled with him, may have reformed Torchwood; but he was still working for the organization that had been responsible for the Doctor losing his lover, was still working for the enemy. And yes, okay, he didn’t want to take any chances of Jack making his move on Rose.

_I will stay forever here with you, my love. The softly spoken words you gave me—even in death, our love goes on._

_Some say I’m crazy for my love, oh my love. But no bonds can hold me from your side, oh my love. They don’t know you can’t leave me. They don’t hear you singing to me. . . ._ It was odd how well that song fit his mental state both now and during his months—years—spent grieving losing her to the Void and Pete’s World.

“No.” It came out as a growl.

Jack stepped forward warily, slowly, as if the Time Lord were a trapped animal. (In a way, maybe he was.) “Doctor, I think you and Rose need to leave. Now.”

“Fine by me.” The Doctor wheeled around, still keeping Rose close to him, and headed back the way they’d came.

He didn’t bother looking back to see if the immortal human was following. The Time Lord was just happy to be _away_ from the freak.

Until Rose stopped in her tracks and looked back at Jack, that is. She asked the ex-con, “Jack, what happened to you?”

“What, he didn’t tell you?” Jack’s blue eyes slid past Rose to the Doctor; he jerked his chin in the Time Lord’s direction. His American drawl held a hint of surprise and a load of cynicism.

“No. He said you were a living fixed point, that it wasn’t his place to tell me.”

“Did he now.” The surprise was gone, replaced with an edge of steel. Jack’s gaze clouded with suspicion as he stared at the Doctor. “Funny, he’s the one who explained everything to me. And trust me, Rose, you don’t want to know.”

She bristled, and the Doctor’s hearts swelled with pride. “Why not?”

“Because it’s yourfault I’m like this.”

Rose blinked, flinched back, and her back hit the Doctor’s front. “What? I don’t reme—”

“Bad Wolf,” the Doctor said suddenly, bringing up his right hand to rest it on her shoulder. He felt her tense, heard the rapid tattoo of her heart. If he shifted his fingers to the left a little, he would be able to feel the throbbing of her pulse, of blood rushing through her veins.

He had so many plans that would cause her blood to run faster as he made her come undone. Once they were back on the TARDIS . . .

“The last thing I remember on the Game Station was death by extermination.” Jack’s voice pulled the Doctor out of his thoughts. “Then I was alive and hearing the TARDIS dematerializing. He deliberately left me there.” Those blue eyes hardened for a second. “But I still had my Vortex manipulator, so I used it to bring me back to Cardiff—only I overshot, landed in the 19th century, and my manipulator shorted out. And yes, I’m over a hundred years old and should be dead—sometimes I wish I were. It’d spare you the details; I got the message after the first fifty or so times: I’m the man who can never die.”

Rose paled; the Doctor could feel the sudden clamminess in her skin, could smell her horror. “I didn’t know—”

“It wasn’t your fault, Rose,” the Doctor reassured her, beginning to massage the tension out of her neck and shoulders. “You couldn’t control it—and it wasn’t _you_ , it was Bad Wolf.”

Except it _had_ been her, he remembered. Rose Tyler _was_ the Bad Wolf; there was no separating the two.

There had been a reason he hadn’t told her the full truth about Bad Wolf. This was it. (One of them, anyway.)

He’d also deliberately kept her away from Jack after regeneration, telling her that the human was busy rebuilding the Earth—that the Doctor didn’t want to trouble him. Would Rose remember that?

Apparently not, given she was slowly relaxing, leaning into his touch.

The Doctor’s eyes flicked up from Rose’s head, met Captain Jack’s blue ones, found the Torchwood leader’s gaze unreadable—for a human. _She’s **mine**_ **,** he told Jack silently, almost daring him to make a move.

Jack took the hint and nodded slightly. “Look, Rose, I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. Like the Doctor said, it wasn’t really—” He broke off, sighed. “I know you can’t reverse it, but I forgive you.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “You better leave now. If the others realize who you are . . .”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence; both the Doctor and Rose knew full well what could happen. The Doctor nodded tersely to show he understood; then he turned Rose around and walked with her back out into the main part of the Hub . . .

. . . Only to find four different guns being pointed in his direction.

Almost instantly both the Doctor and Rose stuck their hands up in the air.

Jack appeared beside them, took in the situation, and barked at his team, “Put the guns away!”

“Jack—,” Owen started to protest.

_“Do it.”_

With a great show of reluctance, his team holstered their weapons.

“Thanks,” the Doctor said, lowering his hands and strolling over to where Toshinko was sitting. “Tosh, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said warily.

“You look familiar. Haven’t we met before?”

“Um, I don’t—”

“Yeah, we have,” he said decisively, suddenly remembering. “You were looking after that mutated pig from that spaceship crash that wrecked Big Ben a few years ago. Well, I say ‘looking after’, more like preparing to do an autopsy.”

“That—”

“I had a leather jacket, black hair, blue eyes, and a Northern accent at the time, but that _was_ me, honest. Now, then what do we have here?” Hs moved over; studied the computer screen; and then started typing in commands, his fingers flying over the keyboard. Finished, he stepped away. “There you go.” Pleased with himself, he wandered over to inspect the Rift. He would have two, maybe three minutes at most to get himself and Rose out, but they would make it.

The others wouldn’t be so lucky.

“Doctor,” Jack said, a warning note in his voice, “what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he said innocently, knowing it was a lie.

 _Get Rose, get Rose, getRosegetRosegetRose . . ._ The thought pounded through his skull. _Keep her safe, away from Torchwood. . ._

 Jack would be the only one to survive. The Doctor could feel Torchwood Three’s timeline being rewritten, could sense what was coming would be so much worse without the Cardiff team there to intervene and stop it.

He didn’t care.

Turning abruptly away from the computer and the Rift, he again made his over to Rose, took her hand in his. Leaning in close, he whispered one word:

“Run.”

Intelligent, questioning golden-brown eyes met his.

“TARDIS. Go. Now. I’ll catch up.”

He could read the unspoken question in her eyes— _What are you going to do?_ —but she remained silent and started heading for the main entrance and exit.

There were maybe two minutes and forty-five seconds left.

Causally, almost cheerfully, the Doctor waved a hand at Jack’s team and turned to leave. “See you later, Jack. Nice meeting you lot.” He reached the exit, looked back. “Oh, and if there was one thing you _really_ shouldn’t have done, it was letting me use your computer.” He hissed in a breath, almost looked upset. “Sorry,” the Doctor said insincerely.

“Doctor!” Jack’s voice stopped him. “What did you—? Why are you—? I thought—”

“I’m the winner, Jack. I’ve always been the winner.”

Guns were suddenly aimed in his direction, and the Doctor smiled tightly, darkly. “So, that makes me the villain, right?” He received no answer. “Fine! Well then, are you still the heroes—if you die?” Then he was gone, haring away after Rose, sonicking the wheel-like door shut behind him. He caught up to Rose easily, his hand finding hers without conscious thought. Taking her hand, touching her, hugging her was second nature for this body, helped him get his Rose Tyler fix.

They made it inside the TARDIS with twenty seconds to spare; he started the dematerialization process, took them out into deep space.

Back in Cardiff, the dam burst.

Captain Jack Harkness was the only member of the team to survive. But then again, he would be. After all, he was the man who could never die.

-oOo-

Rose disappeared into the meandering corridors of the TARDIS as soon as she could. She didn’t really care where she ended up; she just knew she wanted to avoid the library, the swimming pool, the kitchen, her room . . . _especially_ her room.

_I can’t escape the twisted way you think of me. I feel you in my dreams and I don’t sleep. I don’t sleep!_

_Had_ she dreamt about him last night? She couldn’t remember.

Rose stopped suddenly outside a room she’d never seen before—at least, she was fairly certain she hadn’t. The door was slightly ajar enough for her to see the inside was pitch black.

 _Perfect._ With a quick glance around to check the Doctor was nowhere in sight, she slipped inside and shut the door, locking it behind her.

_Don’t look back. Undress in the dark and hide from you, all of you. . . ._

Slowly, feeling her way with her hands held out in front of her, Rose made her way across the room until she felt what seemed to be a wall. Turning her back on it, she slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, her knees drawn up and her forearms resting on same so her hands dangled out in open air.

Song lyrics ran through her head; she sang softly, “You’ll never know the way your words have haunted me. I can’t believe you’d ask these things of me. You don’t know me—now or ever. . . .”

Rose wasn’t sure how long she stayed like that, but after a while she thought she heard footsteps walking down the hallway. The footsteps stopped right outside the door; second later, the all-too-familiar sound of the sonic screwdriver reached her ears.

Terror clutched at her heart, sent cold tingling down her back and along her peripheral nervous system. Not again. _Not again_ . . . She still hadn’t recovered from what he’d done to her, wasn’t sure if she ever would or if she could ever forgive him. Mentally she couldn’t, but physically . . .

Light spilled into the room as the door slowly opened; Rose scrambled to the side, out of sight. Then there was darkness again as the door shut behind him, trapping her in with someone she didn’t recognize anymore.

Even though she couldn’t see him, she could sense him moving closer. Rose found herself wondering just how well he could see in the dark, because he was making his way toward her with surprising speed. She shied away when she sensed him in front of her, turned her head to avoid looking at him.

“Rose.” His voice was low, held a slight Scottish burr . . . and surprisingly gentle. It was also coming from somewhere close to her head, so he must have crouched down to be at her level. Long, slender fingers reached out, cupped her cheek for a moment before sliding down her neck, shoulder, arm to take her hand. “Talk to me. Please.”

Suspicion flared. He was up to something, she just knew it. But what? Scowling, she slipped her hand out of his. “What did you do to them, Doctor—Jack’s team?”

He didn’t answer her question as much as avoid it altogether. “Jack survived, if it’s any consolation. You know, when you were talking to him, I couldn’t stop looking at your mouth.”

She blinked, dumbfounded. “What?” _What does that have to do with anything?_

“Well, it’s a very beautiful mouth.” Was he trying to assure her? “And I was thinking . . .” She could almost hear, almost see, his smirk. “. . . I’ve come in that mouth.”

Her stomach abruptly plummeted out from under her. She couldn’t believe he’d just said that. But when had they . . .?

Then she remembered a dream from last night, and nausea hit full force. In her head she heard again: _I can’t escape the twisted way you think of me. I feel you in my dreams and I don’t sleep. I. Don’t. Sleep!_ What came out of her mouth instead was, “I can’t believe you just said that.”

Her eyes had adjusted to the dark by now, and she thought she saw his mouth twitch in a ghost of a smile. _No. No . . ._ Rose was sick with fear all over again: her mouth ran dry; her heartbeat increased; her palms felt clammy; her stomach shot up to its normal location and turned over.

“It’s not the first time, is it?” the Doctor said softly; she started, was halfway up from the floor before she realized what she was doing.

She couldn’t let him near her . . .

Rose could just make out his lean shape in the dark as he, too, straightened. A moment later, his hands were on her shoulders, his head was resting on top of hers, and her back was once again to the wall.

 _No . . ._ A low sound reached her ears, a half-moan of dread and fear, and dimly she realized it was coming from her.

“Ssshhh.” Soft lips pressed briefly against her forehead, brushed against her cheeks. Cool hands ghosted down her arms, eased under her shirt to rest on the skin of her waist; she couldn’t stop herself from trembling in dreaded anticipation. “I don’t want to hurt you, Rose.” Somehow, her shirt drifted to the floor. “Save me.” He trailed light kisses along her collarbone. “Say you belong to me, my precious queen,” he said, more groan than words.

She should be fighting him, should be shoving him off her, but she was paralyzed. She couldn’t move. And oh, how she wanted to scream. _Wake up in a dream. Frozen fear. All your hands on me. I can’t scream. I can’t scream!_

“There’s nowhere to run.” The words were a caress over the swell of her breasts. Then suddenly, before she could do anything to react, she was in his arms and he was carrying her bridal style out the dark room, into the hallway, and into the room she now recognized as his own.

 _Oh god, no . . ._ NO!

 _Now_ she struggled, pushing against him as he laid her down on his bed, a scream caught in her throat.

He gripped her wrists tightly, held them over her head as he straddled her. “ _Don’t_ fight me,” he hissed, but his eyes were heated as they raked over her half-naked form.

Panting with fear, she bucked up off the mattress, but she didn’t have enough leverage to dislodge him. And the instant her hips came into contact with his, she recoiled back.

His hold on her hands was gentler now, if only for the sake of him dipping his head to her neck, taking a moment to breathe in her scent before kissing the pale skin. Rose twisted beneath him, stilled at his low moan. “Don’t scream, my love,” she heard him rasp, breath surprisingly warm on her chilled flesh.

He released her then, his hands coming to her shoulders and then her back to unclasp her bra. It landed somewhere on the floor; she couldn’t check where.

And as he continued to explore her upper body in ways he hadn’t before, as he coaxed her body to respond to him, Rose found herself wishing he would just get it over with.

As he’d pointed out earlier, there was nowhere to run.

-oOo-

The Doctor smirked to himself as he pressed feather-light kisses to the toned planes of Rose’s abdominal region, trailed his left hand possessively over her womb.

He’d lied to her earlier, in more ways than one. She was ovulating—he could smell it, taste it. If he wanted . . . No, not yet. Once he regained Rose’s trust, her . . . affections, then maybe.

Right now, however, he was wearing far too much clothing. That problem had to be corrected immediately.

It was. In quick succession, he discarded her of her pants, socks, and knickers; personally, he could care less where her articles of clothing ended up in the room. If he had his way, Rose wouldn’t be wearing much of anything for the next few days anyway.

The tip of his tongue flicked out, licked his lips as his gaze devoured her. Rose shrank back under his scrutiny, her legs closed to him.

“Don’t hide from me, Rose.” It came out quietly—a warning—as he crawled back onto the bed. “ _Never_ from me.” He eased his hands up the insides of her calves and thighs, parting her legs. “You remember when you asked me what it was I wanted from you?” the Doctor said conversationally. He barely waited for her confirmation before continuing, “Well, I lied. I want _everything_.” Tired of foreplay, he thrust into her; a low groan of pleasure rose in his throat as he buried himself to the hilt.

Then skin on his back suddenly flared with a stinging sensation; the Doctor felt blood well up in the scratches, trickle down his back. Surprised, he hissed in a breath and withdrew slightly. Pain, however, soon mingled with pleasure—and he found he wanted more.

“Again,” he ground out, voice several shades of ragged. He shifted his hips for a better angle, started and found a rhythm that worked for him—not too slow, not too fast, yet he had to remind himself not to be too hard right now: he wanted to please Rose as well.

Her nails dug into his pectorals, his latissimus dorsi, his serratus major; orange-red blood dripped down onto the bedsheets, onto pale pink skin. He shuddered with the effort of trying to remain composed—but at the sight of her golden-brown eyes turned dark and glassy, the mingled scents of sweat, sex, and blood, his control snapped.

 Snatches of Gallifreyan reached his ears; he didn’t stop to mentally translate what he was saying—not that it mattered: it was the one language the TARDIS _wouldn’t_ translate. When he wasn’t rambling on in his native tongue, he pressed hot, bruising kisses to her skin.

At least Rose wasn’t fighting him; no, she’d given up, given in, a while ago. (He suspected she was getting some sort of pleasure out of rendering him bloody like this, but that was neither here nor there.)

The tightening at the base of his spine warned him that he was close, so close. Just a few more strokes and . . .

He bit down on her right shoulder, near where her neck joined her collarbone, as his release broke over him in waves. As the last of it subsided, he rasped his tongue over the mark he’d made.

 _Mine. You belong to me now, Rose_.

He slipped out of her, then rolled onto his side and threw an arm over her body. She stilled, went rigid as he nuzzled her cheek, softly kissed the top of her head. “How long are you going to stay with me?” he asked her—that same question he’d asked her so long ago.

This time, there was no answer.        

 _I can’t save your life,  
_ _Though nothing I bleed for is more tormenting.  
_ _I’m losing my mind and you just stand  
_ _There and stare as my world divides._

 _You belong to me,  
_ _My snow white queen.  
_ _There’s nowhere to run, so let’s just get it over.  
_ _Soon I know you’ll see  
_ _You’re just like me.  
_ _Don’t scream anymore, my love,  
_ _’Cause all I want is you.  
_ _All I want is you.  
_ _All I want is you.  
_ _All I want is you!_


End file.
